There is a looker-on who sits behind my eyes.
It seems he has seen things in ages and worlds
beyond memory's shore, and those forgotten
sights glisten on the grass, and shiver on the
leaves. He has seen under new veils the face
of the one beloved, in twilight hours of many a
nameless star. Therefore his sky seems to ache
with the pain of countless meetings and partings,
and a longing pervades this spring breeze,-- the
longing that is full of the whisper of ages without
beginning.

 

-- Rabindranath Tagore --