Some were for home, some for the farther shore, yet all have ventured to
sail.
But I sit alone at the landing, having left my home and missed the boat:
summer is gone and my winter harvest is lost.
I wait for that love which gathers failures to sow them in tears on the
dark, that they may bear fruit when day rises anew.
19
On this side of the water there is no landing; the girls do not come here
to fetch water; the land along its edge is shaggy with stunted shrubs; a
noisy flock of _saliks_ dig their nests in the steep bank under whose frown
the fisher-boats find no shelter.
You sit there on the unfrequented grass, and the morning wears on. Tell me
what you do on this bank so dry that it is agape with cracks?
She looks in my face and says, "Nothing, nothing whatsoever."
On this side of the river the bank is deserted, and no cattle come to
water. Only some stray goats from the village browse the scanty grass all
day, and the solitary water-hawk watches from an uprooted _peepal_ aslant
over the mud.
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