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.

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