Gitanjali-68
THY sunbeam comes upon this earth of
mine with arms outstretched and
stands at my door the livelong day to
carry back to thy feet clouds made of
my tears and sighs and songs.
With fond delight thou wrappest
about thy starry breast that mantle of
misty cloud, turning it into
numberless shapes and folds and
colouring it with hues everchanging.
It is so light and so fleeting,
tender and tearful and dark, that is
why thou lowest it, 0 thou spotless
and serene. And that is why it may
cover thy awful white light with its
pathetic shadows.