The Rainy Day

Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the

forest.

O child, do not go out!

The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads

against the dismal sky; the crows with their dragged wings are

silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river

is haunted by a deepening gloom.

Our cow is lowing loud, ties at the fence.

O child, wait here till I bring her into the stall.

Men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes

as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain-water is

running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who

has run away from his mother to tease her.

Listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.

O child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry

is closed.

The sky seems to ride fast upon the madly rushing rain; the

water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home

early from the Ganges with their filled pitchers.

The evening lamps must be made ready.

O child, do not go out!

The road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is

slippery. The wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo

branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.