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Bid me and I shall gather my fruits to bring them in full baskets
into your courtyard, though some are lost and some not ripe.
For the season grows heavy with its fulness, and there is a
plaintive shepherd's pipe in the shade.
Bid me and I shall set sail on the river.
The March wind is fretful, fretting the languid waves into
murmurs.
The garden has yielded its all, and in the weary hour of evening
the call comes from your house on the shore in the sunset.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore from Fruit-Gathering (1916)
Added by Silvia Velea
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