Gitanjali: 21

I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the
shore—Alas for me!
The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now with
the burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.
The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the
shady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall.
What emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you not feel a thrill
passing through the air with the notes of the far-away song floating
from the other shore?