The Evening Was Lonely
Rabindranath Tagore
The Evening was lonely for me, and I was reading a book, till my heart become dry, and it seemed to me that beauty was a thing fashioned by the traders in world. Tired I shut the book and snuffed the candle. In a moment the room was flooded by the moonlight.
Sprit of beauty, how could you, whose radiance over brims the sky, stand hidden behind a candle’s tiny flame? How could a few vain words hidden from a book rise like a mist, and veil her whose voice has hushed the heart of earth into ineffable calm?
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