When I give up the helm I know that
the time has come for thee to take it.
What there is to do will be instantly
done. Vain is this struggle.
Then take away your hands and
silently put up with your defeat, my
heart, and think it your good fortune
to sit perfectly still where you are
These my lamps are blown out at
every little puff of wind, and trying to
light them I forget all else again and
But I shall be wise this time and wait
in the dark, spreading my mat on the
floor; and whenever it is thy pleasure,
my lord, come silently and take thy seat here.
From Gitanjali (Macmillan and Co., Limited, 1913) by Rabindranath Tagore. This poem is in the public domain.