In the deep shadows of the rainy July,
with secret steps, thou walkest, silent as
night, eluding all watchers.
   Today the morning has closed its eyes,
heedless of the insistent calls of the loud
east wind, and the thick veil has been drawn
over the ever-wakeful blue sky.
   The woodlands have hushed their songs,
and doors are all shut at every house.  Thou
art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted street. 
 Oh my only friend, my be best beloved,
the gates are open in my house-
do not pass by like a dream.
	-- from Gitanjali, translated by Rabindranath Tagore