The Gardener

Is that your call again?
The evening has come. Weariness
clings round me like the arms of
entreating love.
Do you call me?
I had given all my day to you,
cruel mistress, must you also rob me
of my night?
Somewhere there is an end to
everything, and the loneness of the
dark is one's own.
Must your voice cut through it
and smite me?
Has the evening no music of sleep
at your gate?
Do the silent-winged stars never
climb the sky above your pitiless
tower?
Do the flowers never drop on the
dust in soft death in your garden?
Must you call me, you unquiet
one?
Then let the sad eyes of love vainly
watch and weep.
Let the lamp burn in the lonely
house.
Let the ferry-boat take the weary
labourers to their home.
I leave behind my dreams and I
hasten to your call.

From Gitanjali - Rabindranath Tagore