Читать книгу Gitanjali & Fruit-Gathering - Rabindranath Tagore - Страница 49

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The day that stands between you and me makes her last bow of farewell.

The night draws her veil over her face, and hides the one lamp burning in my chamber.

Your dark servant comes noiselessly and spreads the bridal carpet for you to take your seat there alone with me in the wordless silence till night is done.