A gentle man of sixty-five, a professor, a learned man,
guiding us through Tagore's house and life, giving the
history of both.
Now sitting, writing of his patience and quiet virtue,
nature calling from below, a silent beauty descending
upon us all.
A vision of what may happen in the future is awakened
and entices intellect, there are no words to describe
this mysterious circumstance, it has come and now is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem