The Golden Boat or Sonar Tori by Rabindranath Tagore

Amidst dense clouds and heavy downpour,
Without any hope of respite, I sit on the shore. 
        Many sheaves of rice are piled in droves,
                 Housed in straw-built stores.
The river's edge is like a razor as the water flows,
                    Torrential and ferocious. 
While the rice was being cut, it started to pour. 

         I have a small field, and I work alone. 
    The water sways on all sides and overflows. 
           On the other shore’s horizon,
                     I see etched 
              A village under the shadow of trees 
                 Covered in misty morning clouds. 
   On this shore, I am alone in this small field. 

Someone is singing and rowing to this side. 
    Looks like, I might know her. 
           Without glancing around, 
            She rows past in full sail.   
            The waves helplessly 
                  Part to give way— 
      Looks like, I might know her. 

Oh where do you row, to which foreign land? 
       Come to me in your boat. 
            Go wherever you want, 
              Give to whoever you desire, 
                      Only, do take
                       With a smile, 
            My golden crop from this shore. 
           
 Take as much as you wish into your boat. 
      Is there anymore? — There’s none left. 
                           By the river, 
               I stashed into the boat
              All that I had done in my life 
                  In bundles —
Now, please be merciful and take me along. 

I have no place. The boat is too small. 
It is filled with my crop of golden paddy. 
                 Surrounded by heavy 
                  Monsoon clouds,
                  I stayed by the 
                     Lonely shore — 
Whatever I had was taken away by the golden boat.