The below is from Verse 30, Lovers gift by Tagore. It seems Tagore wrote this when he was bereaving the death of his beloved...
Translation by Tagore
"' The spring of flowers breakout like the passionate pain of unspkoen love. With their breath comes the memory of my old day songs. My heart , of a sudden , has put on green leaves of desire .My love came not but her touch is in my limbs , and her voice comes across the fragrant fields . Her gaze is in the sad depth of the sky , but where are her eyes ? Her kisses flit in the air , but where are her lips ? ""
Now GR's translation of the above