The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.
I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet.
It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, and that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune.
The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.
My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said `Here art thou!''
The question and the cry `Oh, where?'' melt into tears of a thousand streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance `I am!''
Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat, only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean, at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies, free as waves, free from all bondage of words.
Is the time not come yet? Are there works still to do? Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.
Who knows when the chains will be off, and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset, vanish into the night?
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 outstretched 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 one 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 but，I do not know why.
Years age it was a day of breezy March when the murmur if 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 village are waiting for the ferry at the bank.
I slowly return upon my steps，I do not know why.
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