Page:Original manuscript of Gitanjali - Rabindranath Tagore - Rothenstein collection.pdf/27

১১ The day is no more, the shadow is upon the earth. The time is for me to come to the stream to fill my pitcher.

The evening air is eager with the sad music of the water. Ah, it calls me out into the dusk.

In the lonely lane there is no passerby, the wind is up, the ripples are rampant in the river.

I know not if I shall come back home. I know not whom I shall chance to meet. There at the fording in the little boat the strange unknown man plays upon his lute. 12