Kalbaishakhi,
Where dwell you, sir
That cometh thou like
The sire on the way,
It's gathering,
Gathering in the distant,
The gloom imminent
And the strong gusts of the wind
Blowing,
Blowing and howling
And sighing by,
Things getting ruffled,
The tin roofs rattling,
The branches of the trees swaying
Dangerously, ferociously!
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I would like to translate this poem