Читать книгу The Essential Works of Tagore - Rabindranath Tagore - Страница 225

CROSSING

The Sun breaks out from the clouds on the day when I must go.

And the sky gazes upon the earth like God’s wonder.

My heart is sad, for it knows not from where comes its call.

Does the breeze bring the whisper of the world which I leave behind with its music of tears melting in the sunny silence? or the breath of the island in the faraway sea basking in the Summer of the unknown flowers?

When the market is over and they return homewards through the dusk,

I sit at the wayside to watch thee plying thy boat.

Crossing the dark water with the sunset gleam upon thy sail;

I see thy silent figure standing at the helm and suddenly catch thy eyes gazing upon me;

I leave my song; and cry to thee to take me across.

The wind is up, I set my sail of songs,

Steersman, sit at the helm.

For my boat is fretting to be free, to dance in the rhythm of the wind and water.

The day is spent, il is evening.

My friends of the shore have taken leave.

Loose the chain and heave the anchor, we sail by the starlight.

The wind is stirred into the murmur of music at this time of my departure.

Steersman, sit at the helm.

Accept me, my lord, accept me for this while.

Let those orphaned days that passed without thee be forgotten.

Only spread this little moment wide across thy lap, holding it under thy light.

I have wandered in pursuit of voices that drew me yet led me nowhere.

Now let me sit in peace and listen to thy words in the soul of my silence.

Do not turn away thy face from my heart’s dark secrets, but burn them till they are alight with thy fire.

The scouts of a distant storm have pitched their cloud-tents in the sky; the light has paled; the air is damp with tears in the voiceless shadows of the forest.

The peace of sadness is in my heart like the brooding silence upon the master’s lute before the music begins.

My world is still with the expectation of the great pain of thy coming into my life.

Thou hast done well, my lover, thou hast done well to send me thy fire of pain.

For my incense never yields its perfume till it burns, and my lamp is blind till it is lighted.

When my mind is numb its torpor must be stricken by thy love’s lightning; and the very darkness that blots my world burns like a torch when set afire by thy thunder.

Deliver me from my own shadows, my lord, from the wrecks and confusion of my days. For the night is dark and thy pilgrim is blinded. Hold thou my hand.

Deliver me from despair.

Touch with thy flame the lightless lamp of my sorrow.

Waken my tired strength from its sleep.

Do not let me linger behind counting my losses. Let the road sing to me of the house at every step. For the night is dark, and thy pilgrim is blinded. Hold thou my hand.

The lantern which I carry in my hand makes enemy of the darkness of the farther road.

And this wayside becomes a terror to me, where even the flowering tree frowns like a spectre of scowling menace; and the sound of my own steps comes back to me in the echo of muffled suspicion.

Therefore I pray for thy own morning light, when the far and the near will kiss each other and death and life will be one in love.

When thou savest me the steps are lighter in the march of thy worlds.

When stains are washed away from my heart it brightens the light of thy sun.

That the bud has not blossomed in beauty in my life spreads sadness in the heart of creation

When the shroud of darkness will be lifted from my soul it will bring music to thy smile.

Tnou hast given me thy love, filling the world with thy gifts.

They are showered upon me when I do not know them, for my heart is asleep and dark is the night.

Yet though lost in the cavern of my dreams I have been thrilled with fitful gladness;

And I know that in return for the treasure of thy great worlds thou wilt receive from me one little flower of love in the morning when my heart awakes.

My eyes have lost their sleep in watching; yet if I do not meet thee still it is sweet to watch.

My heart sits in the shadow of the rains waiting for thy love; if she is deprived still it is sweet to hope.

They walk away in their different paths leaving me behind; if I am alone still it is sweet to listen for thy footsteps.

The wistful face of the earth weaving its autumn mists wakens longing in my heart; if it is in vain still it is sweet to feel the pain of longing.

Hold thy faith firm, my heart, the day will dawn.

The seed of promise is deep in the soil, it will sprout.

Sleep, like a bud, will open its heart to the light, and the silence will find its voice.

The day is near when thy burden will become thy gift, and thy sufferings will light up thy path.

The wedding hour is in the twilight, when the birds have sung their last and the winds are at rest on the waters, when the sunset spreads the carpet in the bridal chamber and the lamp is made ready to burn through the night.

Behind the silent dark walks the Unseen Comer and my heart trembles.

All songs are hushed, for the service will be read under the evening star.

In the night when noise is tired the murmur of the sea fills the air.

The vagrant desires of the day come back to their rest round the lighted lamp.

Love’s play is stilled into worship, life’s stream touches the deep, and the world of forms comes to its nest in the beauty beyond all forms.

Who is awake all alone in this sleeping earth, in the air drowsing among the moveless leaves? awake in the silent birds’ nests, in the secret centres of the flower buds? awake in the throbbing stars of the night, in the depth of the pain of my being?

You came to my door in the dawn and sang; it angered me to be awakened from sleep, and you went away unheeded.

You came in the noon and asked for water; it vexed me in my work, and you were sent away with reproaches.

You came in the evening with your flaming torches.

You seemed to me like a terror and I shut my door.

Now in the midnight I sit alone in my lampless room and call you back whom I turned away in insult.

Pick up this life of mine from the dust.

Keep it under your eyes, in the palm of your right hand.

Hold it up in the light, hide it under the shadow of death; keep it in the casket of the night with your stars, and then in the morning let it find itself among flowers that blossom in worship.

I know that this life, missing its ripeness in love, is not altogether lost.

I know that the flowers that fade in the dawn, the streams that strayed in the desert, are not altogether lost.

I know that whatever lags behind in this life laden with slowness is not altogether lost.

I know that my dreams that are still unfulfilled, and ray melodies still unstruek, are clinging to some lute-strings of thine, and they are not altogether lost.

You came to me in the wayward hours of spring with flute songs and flowers.

You troubled my heart from ripples into waves, rocking the red lotus of love.

You asked me to come out with you into the secret of life.

But I fell asleep among the murmurous leaves of May

When I woke the cloud gathered in the sky and the dead leaves flitted in the wind.

Through the patter of rain I hear your nearing footsteps and the cry to come out with you into the secret of death.

I walk to your side and put my hand into yours, while your eyes burn and water drips from your hair.

The day is dim with rain.

Angry lightnings glance through the tattered cloud-veils

And the forest is like a caged lion shaking its mane in despair.

On such a day amidst the winds beating their wings, let me find my peace in thy presence.

For the sorrowing sky has shadowed my solitude, to deepen the meaning of thy touch about my heart.

On that night when the storm broke open my door

I did not know that you entered my room through the ruins,

For the lamp was blown out, and it became dark;

I stretched my arms to the sky in search of help.

I lay on the dust waiting in the tumultuous dark and I knew not that storm was your own banner.

When the morning came I saw you standing upon the emptiness that was spread over my house.

Is it the Destroyer who comes?

For the boisterous sea of tears heaves in the floodtide of pain.

The crimson clouds run wild in the wind lashed by lightning, and the thundering laughter of the Mad is over the sky.

Life sits in the chariot crowned by Death.

Bring out your tribute to him of all that you have.

Do not hug your savings to your heart, do not look behind,

Bend your head at his feet, trailing your hair in the dust.

Take to the road from this moment.

For the lamp is blown out and the house is desolate.

The storm winds scream through your doors, the walls are rocking, and the call comes from the land of dimness beyond your ken.

Hide not your face in terror; tears are in vain; your door chains have snapped.

Run out for your voyage to the end of all joys and sorrows.

Let your steps be the steps of a desperate dance. Sing “Victory to Life in Death.’*

Accept your destiny, 0 Bride!

Put on your red robe to follow through the darkness the torchlight of the Bridegroom!

I came nearest to you, though I did not know it,—when I came to hurt you.

I owned you at last as my master when I fought against you to be defeated.

I merely made my debt to you burdensome when I robbed you in secret.

I struggled in my pride against your current only to feel all your force in my breast.

Rebelliously I put out the light in my house and your sky surprised me with its stars.

Have you come to me as my sorrow? All the more I must cling to you.

Your face is veiled in the dark, all the more I must see you.

At the blow of death from your hand let my life leap up in a flame.

Tears flow from my eyes,—let them flow round your feet in worship.

And let the pain in my breast speak to me that you are still mine.

I hid myself to evade you.

Now that I am caught at last, strike me, see if I flinch.

Finish the game for good.

If you win in the end, strip me of all that I have.

I have had my laughter and songs in wayside booths and stately halls,—now that you have come into my life, make me weep, see if you can break my heart.

When I awake in thy love my night of ease will be ended.

Thy sunrise will touch my heart with its touchstone of fire, and my voyage will begin in its orbit of triumphant suffering.

I shall dare to take up death’s challenge and carry thy voice in the heart of mockery and menace.

I shall bare my breast against the wrongs hurled at thy children, and take the risk of standing by thy side where none but thee remains.

I am the weary earth of summer bare of life and parched.

I wait for thy shower to come down in the night when I open my breast and receive it in silence.

I long to give thee in return my songs and flowers.

But empty is my store, and only the deep sigh rises from my heart through the withered grass.

But I know that thou wilt wait for the morning when my hours will brim with their riches.

Come to me like summer cloud, spreading thy showers from sky to sky.

Deepen the purple of the hills with thy majestic shadows, quicken the languid forests into flowers, and awaken in the hill-streams the fervour of the far-away quest.

Come to me like summer cloud, stirring my heart with the promise of hidden life, and the gladness of the green.

I have met thee where the night touches the edge of the day; where the light startles the darkness into dawn, and the waves carry the kiss of the one shore to the other.

From the heart of the fathomless blue comes one golden call, and across the dusk of tears I try to gaze at thy face and know not for certain if thou art seen.

If love be denied me then why does the morning break its heart in songs, and why are these whispers that the south wind scatters among the new-born leaves?

If love be denied me then why does the midnight bear in yearning silence the pain of the stars?

And why does this foolish heart recklessly launch its hope on the sea whose end it does not know?

Only a portion of my gift is in this world, the rest of it is in niv dreams.

You, who ever elude my touch, come there in secret silence, hiding your lamp.

I shall know you by the thrill in the darkness, by the whisper of the unseen worlds, by the breath of the unknown shore;—

I shall know you by the sudden delight of my heart melting into sadness of tears.

I know you will win my heart some day, my lover.

Through your stars you gaze deep into my dreams;

You send your secrets in your moonbeams to me, and I muse and my eyes dim with tears.

Your wooing is in the sunny sky thrilling in the tremulous leaves, in the idle hours overflowing with shepherds’ piping, in the raindimmed dusk when the heart aches with its loneliness.

Some one has secretly left in my hand a flower of love.

Some one has stolen my heart and scattered it abroad in the sky.

I know not if I have found him or I am seeking him everywhere, if it is a pang of bliss or of pain.

The rains sweep the sky from end to end.

In the wild wet wind the jasmines revel in their own perfume.

There is a secret joy in the bosom of the night, it is the joy of the veiled sky in its hidden stars, the joy of the midnight forest in its hoarded bird-songs.

Let me fill my heart with it and carry it in secret through the day.

When I travelled in the day I felt secure, and I did not heed the wonder of thy road, for I was proud of my speed; thy own light stood between me and thy presence.

Now it is night, and I feel thy road at every step in the dark and the scent of flowers filling the silence—like mother’s whisper to the child when the light is out.

I hold tight thy hand and thy touch is with me in my loneliness.

Sailing through the night I came to life’s feast, and the morning’s golden goblet was filled with light for me.

I sang in joy,

I knew not who was the giver.

And I forgot to ask his name.

In the midday the dust grew hot under my feet and the sun overhead.

Overcome by thirst I reached the well.

Water was poured to me.

I drank it.

And while I loved the ruby cup that was sweet as a kiss,

I did not see him who held it and forgot to ask his name.

In the weary evening I seek my way home.

My guide comes with a lamp and beckons me.

I ask his name,

But I only see his light through the silence and feel his smile filling the darkness.

Do not leave me and go, for it is night.

The road through the wilderness is lonely and dark and lost in tangles:

The tired earth lies still, like one blind and without a staff.

I seem to have waited for this moment for ages to light my lamp and cull my flowers.

I have reached the brink of the shoreless sea to take my plunge and lose myself for ever.

I did not know that I had thy touch before it was dawn.

The news has slowly reached me through my sleep, and I open my eyes with its surprise of tears.

The sky seems full of whispers for me and my limbs are bathed with songs.

My heart bends in worship like a dewladen flower, and I feel the flood of my life rushing to the endless.

No guest had come to my house for long, my doors were locked, my windows barred; I thought my night would be lonely.

When I oj)ened my eyes I found the darkness had vanished.

I rose up and ran and saw the bolts of my gates all broken, and through the open door your wind and light waved their banner.

When I was a prisoner in my own house, and the doors were shut, my heart ever planned to escape and to wander.

Now at my broken gate, I sit still and wait for your coming,

You keep me bound by my freedom.

Put out the lamps, my heart, the lamps of your lonely night.

The call comes to you to open your doors, for the morning light is abroad.

Leave your lute in the corner, my heart, the lute of your lonely life.

The call comes to you to come out in silence, for the morning sings your own songs.

Thy gift of the earliest flower came to me this morning, and came the faint tuning of thy light.

I am a bee that has wallowed in the heart of thy golden dawn,

My wings are radiant with its pollen.

I have found my place in the feast of songs in thy April, and I am freed of my fetters like the morning of its mist in a mere play.

Free me as free are the birds of the wilds, the wanderers of unseen paths.

Free me as free are the deluge of rain, and as the storm that shakes its locks and rushes on to its unknown end.

Free me as free is the forest fire, as is the thunder that laughs aloud and hurls defiance to darkness.

When you called me I was asleep under the shadows of my walls and I did not hear you.

Then you struck me with your own hands and wakened me in tears.

I started up to see that the sun had risen, that the flood tide had brought the call of the deep, and my boat was ready rocking on the dancing water.

Rejoice!

For Night’s fetters have broken, the dreams have vanished.

Thy word has rent its veils, the buds of morning are opened; awake, O sleeper!

Light’s greetings spread from the East to the West,

And at the ramparts of the ruined prison rise the paeans of Victory!

In this moment I see you seated upon the morning’s golden carpet.

The sun shines in your crown, the stars drop at your feet, the crowds come and bow to you and go, and the poet sits speechless in the corner.

My guest has come to my door in this autumn morning.

Sing, my heart, sing thy welcome!

Make thy song the song of the sunlit blue, of the dew-damp air, of the lavish gold of harvest fields, of the laughter of the loud water.

Or stand mute before him for awhile gazing at his face;

Then leave thy house and go out with him in silence.

I lived on the shady side of the road and watched my neighbours’ gardens across the way revelling in the sunshine.

I felt I was poor, and from door to door went with my hunger.

The more they gave me from their careless abundance the more I became aware of my beggar’s bowl.

Till one morning I awoke from my sleep at the sudden opening of my door, and you came and asked for alms.

In despair I broke the lid of my chest open and was startled into finding my own wealth.

Tnou hast taken him to thine arms and crowned him with death, him who ever waited outside like a beggar at life’s feast.

Thou hast put thy right hand on his failures and kissed him with peace that stills life’s turbulent thirst.

Thou hast made him one with all kings and with the ancient world of wisdom.

In the world’s dusty road I lost my heart, but you picked it up in your hand.

I gleaned sorrow while seeking for joy, but the sorrow which you sent to me has turned to joy in my life.

My desires were scattered in pieces, you gathered them and strung them in your love.

And while I wandered from door to door, every step led me to your gate.

I was with the crowd when I was in the road;

Where the road ends I find myself alone with you.

I knew not when my day dimmed into dusk and my companions left me.

I knew not when your doors opened and I stood surprised at my own heart’s music.

But are there still traces of tears in my eyes though the bed is made, the lamp is lit, and we are alone, you and I?

When they came and clamoured and surrounded me they hid thee from my sight.

I thought I would bring to thee my gifts last of all.

Now that the day has waned, and they have taken their dues and left me alone,

I see thee standing at the door.

But I find I have no gift remaining to give, and I hold both my hands up to thee.

Much have you given to me,

Yet I ask for more.—

I come to you not merely for the draught of water, but for the spring;

Not for guidance to the door alone, but to the Master’s hall; not only for the gift of love, but for the lover himself.

I have come to thee to take thy touch before I begin my day.

Let thy eyes rest upon my eyes for awhile.

Let me take to my work the assurance of thy comradeship, my friend.

Fill my mind with thy music to last through the desert of noise!

Let thy Love’s sunshine kiss the peaks of my thoughts and linger in my life’s valley where the harvest ripens.

Stand beford my eyes, and let thy glance touch my songs into a flame.

Stand among thy stars and let me find kindled in their lights my own fire of worship.

The earth is waiting at the world’s wayside;

Stand upon the green mantle she has flung upon thy path; and let me feel in her grass and meadow flowers the spread of my own salutation.

Stand in my lonely evening where my heart watches alone; fill her cup of solitude, and let me feel in me the infinity of thy love.

Let thy love play upon my voice and rest on my silence.

Let it pass through my heart into all my movements.

Let thy love like stars shine in the darkness of my sleep and dawn in my awakening.

Let it burn in the flame of my desires

And flow in all currents of my own love.

Let me carry thy love in my life as a harp does its music, and give it back to thee at last with my life.

Yotr hide yourself in your own glory, my King.

The sand-grain and the dew-drop are more proudly apparent than yourself.

The world unabashed calls all things its own that are yours—yet it is never brought to shame.

You make room for us while standing aside in silence; therefore love lights her own lamp to seek you and comes to your worship unbidden.

When from the house of feast I came back home, the spell of the midnight quieted the dance in my blood.

My heart became silent at once like a deserted theatre with its lamps out.

My mind crossed the dark and stood among the stars, and I saw that we were playing unafraid in the silent courtyard of our King’s palace.

I was musing last night on my spendthrift days, when I thought you spoke to me—

“In youth’s careless career you kept all the doors open in your house*

The world went in and out as it pleased—the world with its dust, doubts, and disorder— and with its music.

With the wild crowd I came to you again and again unknown and unbidden.

Had you kept shut your doors in wise seclusion how could I have found my way into your house?”

None needs be thrust aside to make room for you.

When love prepares your seat she prepares it for all.

Where the earthly King appears, guards keep out the crowd, but when you come, my King, the whole world comes in your wake.

With his morning songs he knocks at our door bringing his greetings of sunrise.

With him we take our cattle to the fields and play our flute in the shade.

We lose him to find him again and again in the market crowd.

In the busy hour of the day we come upon him of a sudden, sitting on the wayside grass.

We march when he beats his drum.

We dance when he sings.

We stake our joys and sorrows to play his game to the end

He stands at the helm of our boat,

With him we rock on the perilous waves.

For him we light our lamp and wait when our day is done.

Run to his side as his comrades where he works with all workers.

Sit around him as his partners where he plays his games.

Follow him where he marches, keeping step to the rhythm of his drumbeats.

Rush into the thick of the fair—the fair of life and death—

For there he is with the crowd in the heart of its tumult.

Do not falter in your journey across the lonely hills over the thorns.

For his call sounds at every step and we know that it is love’s voice.

When bells sounded in your temple in the morning, men and women hastened down the woodland path with their offerings of fresh flowers.

But I lay on the grass in the shade and let them pass by.

I think it was well that I was idle, for then my flowers were in bud.

At the end of the day they have bloomed, and I go to my evening worship.

My King’s road that lies still before my house makes my heart wistful.

It stretches its beckoning hand towards me; its silence calls me out of my home; with dumb entreaties it kisses my feet at every step.

It leads me on I know not to what abandonment, to what sudden gain or surprises of distress.

I know not where its windings end—

But my King’s road that lies still before my house makes my heart wistful.

While I walk to my King’s house at the end of the day the travellers come to ask me—

“What hast thou for King’s tribute?”

I do not know what to show them or how to answer, for I have merely this song.

My preparation is large in my house, where the claim is much and many are the claimants.

But when I come to my King’s house I have only this single song to offer it for his wreath.

My songs are the same as are the spring flowers, they come from you.

Yet I bring these to you as my own.

You smile and accept them, and you are glad at my joy of pride.

If my song flowers are frail and they fade and drop in the dust, I shall never grieve.

For absence is not loss in your hand, and the fugitive moments that blossom in beauty are kept ever fresh in your wreath.

My King, thou hast called me to play my flute at the roadside, that they who hear the burden of voiceless life may slop in their errands for a moment and sit and wonder before the balcony of thy palace gate; that they may see anew the ever old and find afresh what is ever about them, and say, “The flowers are in bloom, and the birds sing.”

When my first early songs woke in my heart I thought they were the playmates of the morning flowers.

When they shook their wings and flew into the wilderness it seemed to me that they had the spirit of the summer which comes down with a sudden thunder roar to spend its all in laughter.

I thought that they had the mad call of the storm to rush and lose their way beyond the sunset land.

But now when in the evening light I see the blue line of the shore,

I know my songs are the boat that has brought me to the harbour across the wild sea.

There are numerous strings in your lute, let me add my own among them.

Then when you smite your chords my heart will break its silence and my life will be one with your song.

Amidst your numberless stars let me place my own little lamp.

In the dance of your festival of lights my heart will throb and my life will be one with your smile.

Let my song be simple as the waking in the morning, as the dripping of dew from the leaves,

Simple as the colours in clouds and showers of rain in the midnight.

But my lute strings are newly strung and they dart their notes like spears sharp in their newness.

Thus they miss the spirit of the wind and hurt the light of the sky; and these strains of my songs fight hard to push back thy own music.

I have seen thee play thy music in life’s dancing hall; in the sudden leaf-burst of spring thy laughter has come to greet me; and lying among field flowers I have heard in the grass thy whisper.

The child has brought to my house the message of thy hope, and the woman the music of thy love.

Now I am waiting on the seashore to feel thee in death, to find life’s refrain back again in the star songs of the night.

I remember my childhood when the sunrise, like my play-fellow, would burst in to my bedside with its daily surprise of morning; when the faith in the marvellous bloomed like fresh flowers in my heart every day, looking into the face of the world in simple gladness; when insects, birds and beasts, the common weeds, grass arid the clouds had their fullest value of wonder; when the patter of rain at night brought dreams from the fairyland, and mother’s voice in the evening gave meaning to the stars.

And then I think of death, and the rise of the curtain and the new morning and my life awakened in its fresh surprise of love.

When my heart did not kiss thee in love, O world, thy light missed its full splendour and thy sky watched through the long night with its lighted lamp.

My heart came with her songs to thy side, whispers were exchanged, and she put her wreath on thy neck.

I know she has given thee something which will be treasured with thy stars.

Tiiou hast given me thy seat at thy window from the early hour.

1 have spoken to thy silent servants of the road running on thy errands, and have sung with thy choir of the sky.

I have seen the sea in calm bearing its immeasurable silence, and in storm struggling to break open its own mystery of depth.

I have watched the earth in its prodigal feast of youth, and in its slow hours of brooding shadows*

Those who went to sow seeds have heard my greetings, and those who brought their harvest home or their empty baskets have passed by my songs.

Thus at last my day has ended and now in the evening I sing my last song to say that I have loved thy world.

It has fallen upon me, the service of thy singer.

In my songs I have voiced thy spring flowers, and given rhythm to thy rustling leaves.

I have sung into the hush of thy night and peace of thy morning.

The thrill of the first summer rains has passed into my tunes, and the waving of the autumn harvest.

Let not my song cease at last, my Master, when thou breakest my heart to come into my house, but let it burst into thy welcome.

Guests of my life,

You came in the early dawn, and you in the night,

Your name was uttered by the Spring flowers and yours by the showers of rain.

You brought the harp into my house and you brought the lamp.

After you had taken your leave I found God’s footprints on my floor.

Now when I am at the end of my pilgrimage I leave in the evening flowers of worship my salutations to you all.

I felt I saw your face, and I launched my boat in the dark.

Now the morning breaks in smiles and the spring flowers are in bloom.

Yet should the light fail and the flowers fade I will sail onward.

When you made mute signal to me the world slumbered and the darkness was bare.

Now the bells ring loud and the boat is laden with gold.

Yet should the bells become silent and my boat be empty I will sail onward.

Some boats have gone away and some are not ready, but I will not tarry behind.

The sails have filled, the birds come from the other shore.

Yet, if the sails droop, if the message of the shore be lost, I will sail onward.

“Traveller, where do you go?”

“I go to bathe in the sea in the redd’ning dawn, along the tree-bordered path.”

“Traveller, where is that sea?”

“There where this river ends its course, where the dawn opens into morning, where the day droops to the dusk.”

“Traveller, how many are they who come with you?”

“I know not liow to count them.

They are travelling all night with their lamps lit, they are singing all day through land and water.”

“Traveller, liow far is the sea?”

“How far is it we all ask?

The rolling roar of its water swells to the sky when we hush our talk.

It ever seems near yet far.”

“Traveller, the sun is waxing strong.”

“Yes, our journey is long and grievous.

Sing who are weary in spirit, sing who are timid of heart.”

“Traveller, what if the night overtakes you?”

“We shall lie down to sleep till the new morning dawns with its songs, and the call of the sea floats in the air.”

Comrade of the road,

Here are my traveller's greetings to thee.

O Lord of my broken heart, of leave taking and loss, of the grey silence of the dayfall,

My greetings of the ruined house to thee!

O Light of the new-born morning,

Sun of the everlasting day.

My greetings of the undying hope to thee!

My guide,

I am a wayfarer of an endless road.

My greetings of a wanderer to thee.

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