Page:Original manuscript of Gitanjali - Rabindranath Tagore - Rothenstein collection.pdf/158

 We stood up on our feet and cried "There is no time for delay!"

The king has come—but where are lights, where are wreaths! Where is the throne to seat him! Oh, shame, oh utter shame! Where is the hall, the decorations! Some said, "Vain is this cry! Greet him with empty hands, into thy rooms all bare!"

Open the doors, let the conchshells be sounded! In the depth of the night has come the king of our dark dreary house. The thunder roars in the sky. The darkness shudders in lightning. Bring out thy tattered piece of mat and spread it on the courtyard. With the storm has come of a sudden our king of the fearful night.