Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of
mine with arms outstretched and strands
at my door the livelong day to carry
back to thy feet clouds made of my
tears and songs.
With fond delight thou wrappest
about thy starry breast that mantle of
misty cloud, turning it into numberless
shapes and folds and colouring it with
hues everchanging.
It is so light and so fleeting, tender
and tearful and dark, that is why thou
lovest it, O thou spotless and serene.
And that is why it may cover thy
awful white light with its pathetic
shadows.
From Gitanjali (Macmillan and Company, 1916) by Rabindranath Tagore. This poem is in the public domain.