Pagina 51 de 83

I asked nothing from thee; I uttered not my name to thine ear.

When thou took'st thy leave I stood silent. I was alone by the

well where the shadow of the tree fell aslant, and the women had

gone home with their brown earthen pitchers full to the brim.

They called me and shouted, "Come with us, the morning is wearing

on to noon." But I languidly lingered awhile lost in the midst of

vague musings.

I heard not thy steps as thou camest. Thine eyes were sad when

they fell on me; thy voice was tired as thou spokest low-"Ah, I

am a thirsty traveller." I started up from my day-dreams and

poured water from my jar on thy joined palms. The leaves rustled

overhead; the cuckoo sang from the unseen dark, and perfume of

babla flowers came from the bend of the road.