I was walking by the road, I do not
know why, when the noonday was past
and bamboo branches rustled in the
wind.
      The prone shadows with their out-
stretched arms clung to the feet of
the hurrying light.
      The koels were weary of their
songs.
      I was walking by the road, I do not
know why.
      The hut by the side of the water is
shaded by an overhanging tree.
      Some on was busy with her work,
and her bangles made music in the
corner.
      I stood before this hut, I know not
why.
      The narrow winding road crosses
many a mustard field, and many a
mango forest.
      It passes by the temple of the
village and the market at the river
landing-place.
      I stopped by this hut, I do not know
why.
      Years ago it was a day of breezy
March when the murmur of the spring
was languorous, and mango blossoms
were dropping on the dust.
      The rippling water leapt and licked
the brass vessel that stood on the
landing-step.
      I think of that day of breezy March,
I do not know why.
      Shadows are deepening and cattle
returning to their folds.
      The light is grey upon the lonely
meadows, and the villagers are waiting
for the ferry at the bank.
      I slowly return upon my steps, I
do not know why.