I boasted among men that I had known
you. They see your pictures in all
works of mine. They come and ask
me, “Who is he?” I know not how
to answer them. I say, “Indeed, I
cannot tell.” They blame me and they
go away in scorn. And you sit there
I put my tales of you into lasting
songs. The secret gushes out from my
heart. They come and ask me, “Tell
me all your meanings.” I know not
how to answer them. I say, “Ah, who
knows what they mean!” They smile
and go away in utter scorn. And you
sit there smiling.
From Gitanjali (Macmillan and Co., Limited, 1913) by Rabindranath Tagore. This poem is in the public domain.