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On that same rain-bathed night,
Not a line of light had been traced on sphere of vision;
I had been awake in hope Thine.
Along with gale had been a heavy rain;
On that, a-pitter-patter, cloud's damru had played.
At Northeast corner of my mind, lackadaisically I'd gazed
To apply a coat of balm upon pain.
How many clouds came and left, thunderbolts aroused terror;
Many a screwpine spore, ever crying, floated off.
Even now that fearsome night has kept filling memory
On a melancholy-bestrewn lane.
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