| Why do you whisper so faintly in my ears, O Death, my Death?
 
 When the flowers droop in the evening
 and cattle come back to their stalls,
 you stealthily come to my side and speak words
 that I do not understand.
 
 Is this how you must woo and win me
 with the opiate of drowsy murmur
 and cold kisses, O Death, my Death?
 
 Will there be no proud ceremony for our wedding?
 Will you not tie up with a wreath your tawny coiled locks?
 
 Is there none to carry your banner before you,
 and will not the night be on fire
 with your red torch-lights, O Death, my Death?
 
 Come with your conch-shells sounding,
 come in the sleepless night.
 
 Dress me with a crimson mantle,
 grasp my hand and take me.
 
 Let your chariot be ready at my door
 with your horses neighing impatiently.
 
 Raise my veil and look at my face proudly,
 O Death, my Death!
 
 ~ Rabindranath Tagore
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