The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.
The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set ;
only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.
The blossom has not opened ; only the wind is sighing by.
I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice ;
only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.
from -my new favorite- GITANJALI, R. Tagore