Where dost thou stand behind them all– is a poem in the Rabindranath Tagore’s poetry collection “Song Offerings” or “Gitanjali” in Bengali. Geetanjali is a remarkable book of verses composed by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), which earned him the Nobel Prize.
It was written originally in Bangla during 1908-1909 and later its English version in prose was published under the title ‘The Song offerings’. It was the first English anthology of Rabindranath published in late 1912 by the India Society of London. On 10 November of the following Year (1913), Rabindranath Tagore was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature for the book Geetanjali.
This recognition introduced Rabindranath worldwide as an exponent of unique poetic talent. Famous Irish poet W B Yeats wrote the introduction of the English version of Geetanjali. Besides, a pencil sketch of the poet drawn by Rothenstain was published in the book. Rabindranath dedicated Geetanjali to WB Yeats.
Serial Number of the song : 41
Where dost thou stand behind them all.
WHERE DOST thou stand behind them all, my lover,
hiding thyself in the shadows? They push thee and pass thee by on the dusty road,
taking thee for naught. I wait here weary hours spreading my offerings for thee,
while passers by come and take my flowers, one by one, and my basket is nearly empty.
The morning time is past, and the noon. In the shade of evening my eyes are drowsy with sleep.
Men going home glance at me and smile and fill me with shame. I sit like a beggar maid,
drawing my skirt over my face, and when they ask me, what it is I want, I drop my eyes and answer them not.
Oh, how, indeed, could I tell them that for thee I wait, and that thou hast promised to come.
How could I utter for shame that I keep for my dowry this poverty. Ah, I hug this pride in the secret of my heart.
I sit on the grass and gaze upon the sky and dream of the sudden splendour of thy coming–all the lights ablaze,
golden pennons flying over thy car, and they at the roadside standing agape,
when they see thee come down from thy seat to raise me from the dust,
and set at thy side this ragged beggar girl a-tremble with shame and pride, like a creeper in a summer breeze.
But time glides on and still no sound of the wheels of thy chariot.
Many a procession passes by with noise and shouts and glamour of glory.
Is it only thou who wouldst stand in the shadow silent and behind them all?
And only I who would wait and weep and wear out my heart in vain longing?
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