When I go alone at night to my <br />love-tryst, birds do not sing, the wind <br />does not stir, the houses on both sides <br />of the street stand silent. <br /> It is my own anklets that grow loud <br />at every step and I am ashamed. <br /> When I sit on my balcony and listen <br />for his footsteps, leaves do not rustle <br />on the trees, and the water is still in <br />the river like the sword on the knees <br />of a sentry fallen asleep. <br /> It is my own heart that beats wildly <br />--I do not know how to quiet it. <br /> When my love comes and sits by <br />my side, when my body trembles and <br />my eyelids droop, the night darkens, <br />the wind blows out the lamp, and the <br />clouds draw veils over the stars. <br /> It is the jewel at my own breast <br />that shines and gives light. I do not <br />know how to hide it.<br /><br />Rabindranath Tagore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gardener-ix-when-i-go-alone-at-night/
