sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the forest.

o child, do not go out!

the palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads against the dismal sky; the crows with their draggled wings are silent on the tamarind branches, and the eastern bank of the river is haunted by a deepening gloom.

our cow is lowing loud, tied at the fence.

o child, wait here till i bring her into the stall.

men have crowded into the flooded field to catch the fishes as they escape from the overflowing ponds; the rain water is running in rills through the narrow lanes like a laughing boy who has run away from his mother to tease her.

listen, someone is shouting for the boatman at the ford.

o child, the daylight is dim, and the crossing at the ferry is closed.

the sky seems to ride fast upon the madly-rushing rain; the water in the river is loud and impatient; women have hastened home early from the ganges with their filled pitchers.

the evening lamps must be made ready.

o child, do not go out!

the road to the market is desolate, the lane to the river is slippery. the wind is roaring and struggling among the bamboo branches like a wild beast tangled in a net.