Gitanjali: 22

In the deep shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thou
walkest, silent as night, eluding all watchers.
Today the morning has closed its eyes, heedless of the insistent
calls of the loud east wind, and a thick veil has been drawn over the
ever-wakeful blue sky.
The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are all shut at
every house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted street.
Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my
house—do not pass by like a dream.