classes ::: author, Poetry,
children :::
branches ::: Rabindranath Tagore

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object:Rabindranath Tagore
class:author
subject class:Poetry


--- WIKI
Rabindranath Tagore (born Robindronath Thakur, 7 May 1861 7 August 1941), also known by his pen name Bhanu Singha Thakur (Bhonita), and also known by his sobriquets Gurudev, Kabiguru, and Biswakabi, was a polymath, poet, musician, artist and ayurveda-researcher from the Indian subcontinent. He reshaped Bengali literature and music, as well as Indian art with Contextual Modernism in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Author of the "profoundly sensitive, fresh and beautiful verse" of Gitanjali, he became in 1913 the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature. Tagore's poetic songs were viewed as spiritual and mercurial; however, his "elegant prose and magical poetry" remain largely unknown outside Bengal. He is sometimes referred to as "the Bard of Bengal". A Brahmo Hindu from Calcutta with ancestral gentry roots in Burdwan District and Jessore, Tagore wrote poetry as an eight-year-old. At the age of sixteen, he released his first substantial poems under the pseudonym Bhnusiha ("Sun Lion"), which were seized upon by literary authorities as long-lost classics. By 1877 he graduated to his first short stories and dramas, published under his real name. As a humanist, universalist, internationalist, and ardent anti-nationalist, he denounced the British Raj and advocated independence from Britain. As an exponent of the Bengal Renaissance, he advanced a vast canon that comprised paintings, sketches and doodles, hundreds of texts, and some two thousand songs; his legacy also endures in the institution he founded, Visva-Bharati University. Tagore modernised Bengali art by spurning rigid classical forms and resisting linguistic strictures. His novels, stories, songs, dance-dramas, and essays spoke to topics political and personal. Gitanjali (Song Offerings), Gora (Fair-Faced) and Ghare-Baire (The Home and the World) are his best-known works, and his verse, short stories, and novels were acclaimedor panned for their lyricism, colloquialism, naturalism, and unnatural contemplation. His compositions were chosen by two nations as national anthems: India's Jana Gana Mana and Bangladesh's Amar Shonar Bangla. The Sri Lankan national anthem was inspired by his work.
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now begins generated list of local instances, definitions, quotes, instances in chapters, wordnet info if available and instances among weblinks


OBJECT INSTANCES [0] - TOPICS - AUTHORS - BOOKS - CHAPTERS - CLASSES - SEE ALSO - SIMILAR TITLES

TOPICS
SEE ALSO


AUTH

BOOKS
Infinite_Library
My_Burning_Heart
Tagore_-_Poems
The_Perennial_Philosophy

IN CHAPTERS TITLE
01.05_-_Rabindranath_Tagore:_A_Great_Poet,_a_Great_Man
26.04_-_Rabindranath_Tagore

IN CHAPTERS CLASSNAME
1.rt_-_(101)_Ever_in_my_life_have_I_sought_thee_with_my_songs_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(103)_In_one_salutation_to_thee,_my_God_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(1)_Thou_hast_made_me_endless_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(38)_I_want_thee,_only_thee_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(75)_Thy_gifts_to_us_mortals_fulfil_all_our_needs_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(80)_I_am_like_a_remnant_of_a_cloud_of_autumn_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_Accept_me,_my_lord,_accept_me_for_this_while
1.rt_-_A_Dream
1.rt_-_A_Hundred_Years_Hence
1.rt_-_Akash_Bhara_Surya_Tara_Biswabhara_Pran_(Translation)
1.rt_-_All_These_I_Loved
1.rt_-_Along_The_Way
1.rt_-_And_In_Wonder_And_Amazement_I_Sing
1.rt_-_At_The_End_Of_The_Day
1.rt_-_At_The_Last_Watch
1.rt_-_Authorship
1.rt_-_Babys_Way
1.rt_-_Babys_World
1.rt_-_Beggarly_Heart
1.rt_-_Benediction
1.rt_-_Birth_Story
1.rt_-_Brahm,_Viu,_iva
1.rt_-_Brink_Of_Eternity
1.rt_-_Broken_Song
1.rt_-_Chain_Of_Pearls
1.rt_-_Closed_Path
1.rt_-_Clouds_And_Waves
1.rt_-_Colored_Toys
1.rt_-_Compensation
1.rt_-_Cruel_Kindness
1.rt_-_Death
1.rt_-_Defamation
1.rt_-_Distant_Time
1.rt_-_Dream_Girl
1.rt_-_Dungeon
1.rt_-_Endless_Time
1.rt_-_Face_To_Face
1.rt_-_Fairyland
1.rt_-_Farewell
1.rt_-_Fireflies
1.rt_-_Flower
1.rt_-_Fool
1.rt_-_Freedom
1.rt_-_Friend
1.rt_-_From_Afar
1.rt_-_Gift_Of_The_Great
1.rt_-_Gitanjali
1.rt_-_Give_Me_Strength
1.rt_-_Hard_Times
1.rt_-_Hes_there_among_the_scented_trees_(from_The_Lover_of_God)
1.rt_-_I
1.rt_-_I_Am_Restless
1.rt_-_I_Cast_My_Net_Into_The_Sea
1.rt_-_I_Found_A_Few_Old_Letters
1.rt_-_Innermost_One
1.rt_-_In_The_Country
1.rt_-_In_The_Dusky_Path_Of_A_Dream
1.rt_-_I_touch_God_in_my_song
1.rt_-_Journey_Home
1.rt_-_Keep_Me_Fully_Glad
1.rt_-_Kinu_Goalas_Alley
1.rt_-_Krishnakali
1.rt_-_Lamp_Of_Love
1.rt_-_Last_Curtain
1.rt_-_Leave_This
1.rt_-_Let_Me_Not_Forget
1.rt_-_Light
1.rt_-_Listen,_can_you_hear_it?_(from_The_Lover_of_God)
1.rt_-_Little_Flute
1.rt_-_Little_Of_Me
1.rt_-_Lord_Of_My_Life
1.rt_-_Lost_Star
1.rt_-_Lost_Time
1.rt_-_Lotus
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_II_-_Come_To_My_Garden_Walk
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_IV_-_She_Is_Near_To_My_Heart
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LII_-_Tired_Of_Waiting
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LIV_-_In_The_Beginning_Of_Time
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LVIII_-_Things_Throng_And_Laugh
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LVI_-_The_Evening_Was_Lonely
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LXX_-_Take_Back_Your_Coins
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_VIII_-_There_Is_Room_For_You
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_V_-_I_Would_Ask_For_Still_More
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XIII_-_Last_Night_In_The_Garden
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XIX_-_It_Is_Written_In_The_Book
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XL_-_A_Message_Came
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XLII_-_Are_You_A_Mere_Picture
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XLIII_-_Dying,_You_Have_Left_Behind
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XLIV_-_Where_Is_Heaven
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XLVIII_-_I_Travelled_The_Old_Road
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XLVII_-_The_Road_Is
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XVIII_-_Your_Days
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XVI_-_She_Dwelt_Here_By_The_Pool
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XXII_-_I_Shall_Gladly_Suffer
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XXVIII_-_I_Dreamt
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XXXIX_-_There_Is_A_Looker-On
1.rt_-_Maran-Milan_(Death-Wedding)
1.rt_-_Maya
1.rt_-_Meeting
1.rt_-_Moments_Indulgence
1.rt_-_My_Dependence
1.rt_-_My_Friend,_Come_In_These_Rains
1.rt_-_My_Polar_Star
1.rt_-_My_Pole_Star
1.rt_-_My_Present
1.rt_-_My_Song
1.rt_-_Ocean_Of_Forms
1.rt_-_Old_And_New
1.rt_-_Old_Letters_
1.rt_-_One_Day_In_Spring....
1.rt_-_Only_Thee
1.rt_-_On_many_an_idle_day_have_I_grieved_over_lost_time_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_On_The_Nature_Of_Love
1.rt_-_On_The_Seashore
1.rt_-_Our_Meeting
1.rt_-_Palm_Tree
1.rt_-_Paper_Boats
1.rt_-_Parting_Words
1.rt_-_Passing_Breeze
1.rt_-_Patience
1.rt_-_Playthings
1.rt_-_Poems_On_Beauty
1.rt_-_Poems_On_Life
1.rt_-_Poems_On_Man
1.rt_-_Poems_On_Time
1.rt_-_Prisoner
1.rt_-_Purity
1.rt_-_Rare
1.rt_-_Religious_Obsession_--_translation_from_Dharmamoha
1.rt_-_Roaming_Cloud
1.rt_-_Sail_Away
1.rt_-_Salutation
1.rt_-_Senses
1.rt_-_She
1.rt_-_Shyama
1.rt_-_Signet_Of_Eternity
1.rt_-_Silent_Steps
1.rt_-_Sit_Smiling
1.rt_-_Sleep
1.rt_-_Sleep-Stealer
1.rt_-_Song_Unsung
1.rt_-_Still_Heart
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_01_-_10
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_11-_20
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_21_-_30
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_31_-_40
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_51_-_60
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_61_-_70
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_71_-_80
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_81_-_90
1.rt_-_Stream_Of_Life
1.rt_-_Strong_Mercy
1.rt_-_Superior
1.rt_-_Sympathy
1.rt_-_The_Astronomer
1.rt_-_The_Banyan_Tree
1.rt_-_The_Beginning
1.rt_-_The_Boat
1.rt_-_The_Call_Of_The_Far
1.rt_-_The_Champa_Flower
1.rt_-_The_Child-Angel
1.rt_-_The_End
1.rt_-_The_First_Jasmines
1.rt_-_The_Flower-School
1.rt_-_The_Further_Bank
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_IV_-_Ah_Me
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_IX_-_When_I_Go_Alone_At_Night
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LI_-_Then_Finish_The_Last_Song
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LIX_-_O_Woman
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LVII_-_I_Plucked_Your_Flower
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LV_-_It_Was_Mid-Day
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXI_-_Peace,_My_Heart
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXIV_-_I_Spent_My_Day
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXIX_-_I_Hunt_For_The_Golden_Stag
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXVIII_-_None_Lives_For_Ever,_Brother
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXXIX_-_I_Often_Wonder
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXXV_-_At_Midnight
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXXXIII_-_She_Dwelt_On_The_Hillside
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXXXIV_-_Over_The_Green
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXXXI_-_Why_Do_You_Whisper_So_Faintly
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XI_-_Come_As_You_Are
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XIII_-_I_Asked_Nothing
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XIV_-_I_Was_Walking_By_The_Road
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XIX_-_You_Walked
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XL_-_An_Unbelieving_Smile
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_X_-_Let_Your_Work_Be,_Bride
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLIII_-_No,_My_Friends
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLII_-_O_Mad,_Superbly_Drunk
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLIV_-_Reverend_Sir,_Forgive
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLVIII_-_Free_Me
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLVI_-_You_Left_Me
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLV_-_To_The_Guests
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XVI_-_Hands_Cling_To_Eyes
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XVIII_-_When_Two_Sisters
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XX_-_Day_After_Day_He_Comes
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXII_-_When_She_Passed_By_Me
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXIV_-_Do_Not_Keep_To_Yourself
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXI_-_Why_Did_He_Choose
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXIX_-_Speak_To_Me_My_Love
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXVIII_-_Your_Questioning_Eyes
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXVII_-_Trust_Love
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXVI_-_What_Comes_From_Your_Willing_Hands
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXXIV_-_Do_Not_Go,_My_Love
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXXVIII_-_My_Love,_Once_Upon_A_Time
1.rt_-_The_Gift
1.rt_-_The_Golden_Boat
1.rt_-_The_Hero
1.rt_-_The_Hero(2)
1.rt_-_The_Home
1.rt_-_The_Homecoming
1.rt_-_The_Journey
1.rt_-_The_Judge
1.rt_-_The_Kiss
1.rt_-_The_Kiss(2)
1.rt_-_The_Land_Of_The_Exile
1.rt_-_The_Last_Bargain
1.rt_-_The_Little_Big_Man
1.rt_-_The_Lost_Star
1.rt_-_The_Merchant
1.rt_-_The_Music_Of_The_Rains
1.rt_-_The_Portrait
1.rt_-_The_Rainy_Day
1.rt_-_The_Recall
1.rt_-_The_Sailor
1.rt_-_The_Source
1.rt_-_The_Sun_Of_The_First_Day
1.rt_-_The_Tame_Bird_Was_In_A_Cage
1.rt_-_The_Unheeded_Pageant
1.rt_-_The_Wicked_Postman
1.rt_-_This_Dog
1.rt_-_Threshold
1.rt_-_Tumi_Sandhyar_Meghamala_-_You_Are_A_Cluster_Of_Clouds_-_Translation
1.rt_-_Twelve_OClock
1.rt_-_Unending_Love
1.rt_-_Ungrateful_Sorrow
1.rt_-_Untimely_Leave
1.rt_-_Unyielding
1.rt_-_Urvashi
1.rt_-_Vocation
1.rt_-_Waiting
1.rt_-_Waiting_For_The_Beloved
1.rt_-_We_Are_To_Play_The_Game_Of_Death
1.rt_-_When_And_Why
1.rt_-_When_Day_Is_Done
1.rt_-_When_I_Go_Alone_At_Night
1.rt_-_When_the_Two_Sister_Go_To_Fetch_Water
1.rt_-_Where_Shadow_Chases_Light
1.rt_-_Where_The_Mind_Is_Without_Fear
1.rt_-_Who_are_You,_who_keeps_my_heart_awake?_(from_The_Lover_of_God)
1.rt_-_Who_Is_This?
1.rt_-_Your_flute_plays_the_exact_notes_of_my_pain._(from_The_Lover_of_God)

IN CHAPTERS TEXT
01.04_-_The_Poetry_in_the_Making
01.05_-_Rabindranath_Tagore:_A_Great_Poet,_a_Great_Man
01.06_-_Vivekananda
0_1954-08-25_-_what_is_this_personality?_and_when_will_she_come?
03.12_-_TagorePoet_and_Seer
1.03_-_Meeting_the_Master_-_Meeting_with_others
1.10_-_THE_MASTER_WITH_THE_BRAHMO_DEVOTEES_(II)
1.kbr_-_Do_not_go_to_the_garden_of_flowers!
1.kbr_-_Hang_up_the_swing_of_love_today!
1.kbr_-_O_how_may_I_ever_express_that_secret_word?
1.kbr_-_Poem_13
1.kbr_-_Poem_14
1.kbr_-_Poem_15
1.kbr_-_Poem_2
1.kbr_-_Poem_3
1.kbr_-_Poem_5
1.kbr_-_Poem_6
1.kbr_-_Poem_7
1.kbr_-_Poem_8
1.kbr_-_Poem_9
1.kbr_-_Tell_me,_O_Swan,_your_ancient_tale
1.kbr_-_The_light_of_the_sun,_the_moon,_and_the_stars_shines_bright
1.kbr_-_The_moon_shines_in_my_body
1.kbr_-_Theres_A_Moon_Inside_My_Body
1.kbr_-_Where_dost_thou_seem_me?
1.kbr_-_Within_this_earthen_vessel
1.rt_-_(101)_Ever_in_my_life_have_I_sought_thee_with_my_songs_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(103)_In_one_salutation_to_thee,_my_God_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(1)_Thou_hast_made_me_endless_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(38)_I_want_thee,_only_thee_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(63)_Thou_hast_made_me_known_to_friends_whom_I_knew_not_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(75)_Thy_gifts_to_us_mortals_fulfil_all_our_needs_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(80)_I_am_like_a_remnant_of_a_cloud_of_autumn_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_(84)_It_is_the_pang_of_separation_that_spreads_throughout_the_world_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_Accept_me,_my_lord,_accept_me_for_this_while
1.rt_-_A_Dream
1.rt_-_A_Hundred_Years_Hence
1.rt_-_Akash_Bhara_Surya_Tara_Biswabhara_Pran_(Translation)
1.rt_-_All_These_I_Loved
1.rt_-_Along_The_Way
1.rt_-_And_In_Wonder_And_Amazement_I_Sing
1.rt_-_At_The_End_Of_The_Day
1.rt_-_At_The_Last_Watch
1.rt_-_Authorship
1.rt_-_Babys_Way
1.rt_-_Babys_World
1.rt_-_Beggarly_Heart
1.rt_-_Benediction
1.rt_-_Birth_Story
1.rt_-_Brahm,_Viu,_iva
1.rt_-_Brink_Of_Eternity
1.rt_-_Broken_Song
1.rt_-_Chain_Of_Pearls
1.rt_-_Closed_Path
1.rt_-_Clouds_And_Waves
1.rt_-_Colored_Toys
1.rt_-_Compensation
1.rt_-_Cruel_Kindness
1.rt_-_Death
1.rt_-_Defamation
1.rt_-_Distant_Time
1.rt_-_Dream_Girl
1.rt_-_Dungeon
1.rt_-_Endless_Time
1.rt_-_Face_To_Face
1.rt_-_Fairyland
1.rt_-_Farewell
1.rt_-_Fireflies
1.rt_-_Flower
1.rt_-_Fool
1.rt_-_Freedom
1.rt_-_Friend
1.rt_-_From_Afar
1.rt_-_Gift_Of_The_Great
1.rt_-_Gitanjali
1.rt_-_Give_Me_Strength
1.rt_-_Hard_Times
1.rt_-_Hes_there_among_the_scented_trees_(from_The_Lover_of_God)
1.rt_-_I
1.rt_-_I_Am_Restless
1.rt_-_I_Cast_My_Net_Into_The_Sea
1.rt_-_I_Found_A_Few_Old_Letters
1.rt_-_Innermost_One
1.rt_-_In_The_Country
1.rt_-_In_The_Dusky_Path_Of_A_Dream
1.rt_-_I_touch_God_in_my_song
1.rt_-_Journey_Home
1.rt_-_Keep_Me_Fully_Glad
1.rt_-_Kinu_Goalas_Alley
1.rt_-_Krishnakali
1.rt_-_Lamp_Of_Love
1.rt_-_Last_Curtain
1.rt_-_Leave_This
1.rt_-_Let_Me_Not_Forget
1.rt_-_Light
1.rt_-_Listen,_can_you_hear_it?_(from_The_Lover_of_God)
1.rt_-_Little_Flute
1.rt_-_Little_Of_Me
1.rt_-_Lord_Of_My_Life
1.rt_-_Lost_Star
1.rt_-_Lost_Time
1.rt_-_Lotus
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_II_-_Come_To_My_Garden_Walk
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_IV_-_She_Is_Near_To_My_Heart
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LII_-_Tired_Of_Waiting
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LIV_-_In_The_Beginning_Of_Time
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LVIII_-_Things_Throng_And_Laugh
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LVI_-_The_Evening_Was_Lonely
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_LXX_-_Take_Back_Your_Coins
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_VIII_-_There_Is_Room_For_You
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_V_-_I_Would_Ask_For_Still_More
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XIII_-_Last_Night_In_The_Garden
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XIX_-_It_Is_Written_In_The_Book
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XL_-_A_Message_Came
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XLII_-_Are_You_A_Mere_Picture
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XLIII_-_Dying,_You_Have_Left_Behind
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XLIV_-_Where_Is_Heaven
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XLVIII_-_I_Travelled_The_Old_Road
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XLVII_-_The_Road_Is
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XVIII_-_Your_Days
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XVI_-_She_Dwelt_Here_By_The_Pool
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XXII_-_I_Shall_Gladly_Suffer
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XXVIII_-_I_Dreamt
1.rt_-_Lovers_Gifts_XXXIX_-_There_Is_A_Looker-On
1.rt_-_Maran-Milan_(Death-Wedding)
1.rt_-_Maya
1.rt_-_Meeting
1.rt_-_Moments_Indulgence
1.rt_-_My_Dependence
1.rt_-_My_Friend,_Come_In_These_Rains
1.rt_-_My_Polar_Star
1.rt_-_My_Pole_Star
1.rt_-_My_Present
1.rt_-_My_Song
1.rt_-_Ocean_Of_Forms
1.rt_-_Old_And_New
1.rt_-_Old_Letters_
1.rt_-_One_Day_In_Spring....
1.rt_-_Only_Thee
1.rt_-_On_many_an_idle_day_have_I_grieved_over_lost_time_(from_Gitanjali)
1.rt_-_On_The_Nature_Of_Love
1.rt_-_On_The_Seashore
1.rt_-_Our_Meeting
1.rt_-_Palm_Tree
1.rt_-_Paper_Boats
1.rt_-_Parting_Words
1.rt_-_Passing_Breeze
1.rt_-_Patience
1.rt_-_Playthings
1.rt_-_Poems_On_Beauty
1.rt_-_Poems_On_Life
1.rt_-_Poems_On_Man
1.rt_-_Poems_On_Time
1.rt_-_Prisoner
1.rt_-_Purity
1.rt_-_Rare
1.rt_-_Religious_Obsession_--_translation_from_Dharmamoha
1.rt_-_Roaming_Cloud
1.rt_-_Sail_Away
1.rt_-_Salutation
1.rt_-_Senses
1.rt_-_She
1.rt_-_Shyama
1.rt_-_Signet_Of_Eternity
1.rt_-_Silent_Steps
1.rt_-_Sit_Smiling
1.rt_-_Sleep
1.rt_-_Sleep-Stealer
1.rt_-_Song_Unsung
1.rt_-_Still_Heart
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_01_-_10
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_11-_20
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_21_-_30
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_31_-_40
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_51_-_60
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_61_-_70
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_71_-_80
1.rt_-_Stray_Birds_81_-_90
1.rt_-_Stream_Of_Life
1.rt_-_Strong_Mercy
1.rt_-_Superior
1.rt_-_Sympathy
1.rt_-_The_Astronomer
1.rt_-_The_Banyan_Tree
1.rt_-_The_Beginning
1.rt_-_The_Boat
1.rt_-_The_Call_Of_The_Far
1.rt_-_The_Champa_Flower
1.rt_-_The_Child-Angel
1.rt_-_The_End
1.rt_-_The_First_Jasmines
1.rt_-_The_Flower-School
1.rt_-_The_Further_Bank
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_IV_-_Ah_Me
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_IX_-_When_I_Go_Alone_At_Night
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LI_-_Then_Finish_The_Last_Song
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LIX_-_O_Woman
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LVII_-_I_Plucked_Your_Flower
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LV_-_It_Was_Mid-Day
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXI_-_Peace,_My_Heart
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXIV_-_I_Spent_My_Day
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXIX_-_I_Hunt_For_The_Golden_Stag
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXVIII_-_None_Lives_For_Ever,_Brother
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXXIX_-_I_Often_Wonder
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXXV_-_At_Midnight
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXXXIII_-_She_Dwelt_On_The_Hillside
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXXXIV_-_Over_The_Green
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_LXXXI_-_Why_Do_You_Whisper_So_Faintly
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XI_-_Come_As_You_Are
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XIII_-_I_Asked_Nothing
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XIV_-_I_Was_Walking_By_The_Road
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XIX_-_You_Walked
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XL_-_An_Unbelieving_Smile
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_X_-_Let_Your_Work_Be,_Bride
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLIII_-_No,_My_Friends
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLII_-_O_Mad,_Superbly_Drunk
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLIV_-_Reverend_Sir,_Forgive
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLVIII_-_Free_Me
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLVI_-_You_Left_Me
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XLV_-_To_The_Guests
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XVI_-_Hands_Cling_To_Eyes
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XVIII_-_When_Two_Sisters
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XX_-_Day_After_Day_He_Comes
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXII_-_When_She_Passed_By_Me
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXIV_-_Do_Not_Keep_To_Yourself
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXI_-_Why_Did_He_Choose
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXIX_-_Speak_To_Me_My_Love
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXVIII_-_Your_Questioning_Eyes
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXVII_-_Trust_Love
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXVI_-_What_Comes_From_Your_Willing_Hands
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXXIV_-_Do_Not_Go,_My_Love
1.rt_-_The_Gardener_XXXVIII_-_My_Love,_Once_Upon_A_Time
1.rt_-_The_Gift
1.rt_-_The_Golden_Boat
1.rt_-_The_Hero
1.rt_-_The_Hero(2)
1.rt_-_The_Home
1.rt_-_The_Homecoming
1.rt_-_The_Journey
1.rt_-_The_Judge
1.rt_-_The_Kiss
1.rt_-_The_Kiss(2)
1.rt_-_The_Land_Of_The_Exile
1.rt_-_The_Last_Bargain
1.rt_-_The_Little_Big_Man
1.rt_-_The_Lost_Star
1.rt_-_The_Merchant
1.rt_-_The_Music_Of_The_Rains
1.rt_-_The_Portrait
1.rt_-_The_Rainy_Day
1.rt_-_The_Recall
1.rt_-_The_Sailor
1.rt_-_The_Source
1.rt_-_The_Sun_Of_The_First_Day
1.rt_-_The_Tame_Bird_Was_In_A_Cage
1.rt_-_The_Unheeded_Pageant
1.rt_-_The_Wicked_Postman
1.rt_-_This_Dog
1.rt_-_Threshold
1.rt_-_Tumi_Sandhyar_Meghamala_-_You_Are_A_Cluster_Of_Clouds_-_Translation
1.rt_-_Twelve_OClock
1.rt_-_Unending_Love
1.rt_-_Ungrateful_Sorrow
1.rt_-_Untimely_Leave
1.rt_-_Unyielding
1.rt_-_Urvashi
1.rt_-_Vocation
1.rt_-_Waiting
1.rt_-_Waiting_For_The_Beloved
1.rt_-_We_Are_To_Play_The_Game_Of_Death
1.rt_-_When_And_Why
1.rt_-_When_Day_Is_Done
1.rt_-_When_I_Go_Alone_At_Night
1.rt_-_When_the_Two_Sister_Go_To_Fetch_Water
1.rt_-_Where_Shadow_Chases_Light
1.rt_-_Where_The_Mind_Is_Without_Fear
1.rt_-_Who_are_You,_who_keeps_my_heart_awake?_(from_The_Lover_of_God)
1.rt_-_Who_Is_This?
1.rt_-_Your_flute_plays_the_exact_notes_of_my_pain._(from_The_Lover_of_God)
20.06_-_Translations_in_French
26.03_-_Ramprasad
26.04_-_Rabindranath_Tagore
26.05_-_Modern_Poets
27.04_-_A_Vision
30.07_-_The_Poet_and_the_Yogi
30.14_-_Rabindranath_and_Modernism
9.99_-_Glossary
Talks_With_Sri_Aurobindo_1
Talks_With_Sri_Aurobindo_2

PRIMARY CLASS

author
SIMILAR TITLES
Rabindranath Tagore

DEFINITIONS


TERMS STARTING WITH


TERMS ANYWHERE



QUOTES [28 / 28 - 843 / 843]


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   27 Rabindranath Tagore
   1 Kabir

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1:The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
2:It is very simple to be happy, but it is very difficult to be simple. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
3:While God waits for his temple to be built of love,
   Men bring stones. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
4:See this morning for the first time as a new-born child that has no name ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
5:The flower which is single need not envy the thorns that are numerous.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
6:Don't limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
7:You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, [T5],
8:Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore, [T5],
9:To be outspoken is easy when you do not wait to speak the complete truth.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
10:Beauty is truth's smile when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
11:Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
12:I never give answers. I lead on from one question to another. That is my leadership. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
13:Reach high, for stars lie hidden in you. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
14:If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars." ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
15:Our names are the light that glows on the sea waves at night and then dies without leaving its signature. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
16:I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
17:I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
18:Bare your forehead, waiting for the first blessing of light, and sing with the bird of the morning in glad faith. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, Fruit Gathering,
19:The meaning of our self is not to be found in its separateness from God and others, but in the ceaseless realisation of yoga, of union. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
20:Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because dawn has come." ~ Rabindranath Tagore, @Sufi_Path
21:it can only find itself in changing forms." ~ Rabindranath Tagore, (1861-1941), a Bengali poet & musician, reshaped Bengali literature & music, as well as Indian art with Contextual Modernism, Wikipedia.,
22:Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come." ~ Rabindranath Tagore, (1861 - 7 1941), a polymath, poet, musician, and artist from the Indian subcontinent, Wikipedia.,
23:Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come." ~ Rabindranath Tagore, (1861 - 7 1941), a polymath, poet, musician, and artist from the Indian subcontinent, Wikipedia.",
24:Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man." ~ Rabindranath Tagore, (1861 - 1941), a polymath, poet, musician, and artist from the Indian subcontinent. he became in 1913 the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature, Wikipedia.,
25:If anger be the basis of our political activities, the excitement tends to become an end in itself, at the expense of the object to be achieved. Side issues then assume an exaggerated importance, and all gravity of thought and action is lost; such excitement is not an exercise of strength, but a display of weakness.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
26:
   When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of mercy.
   When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song.
   When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest.
   When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king.
   When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one, thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
27:Where spring, the lord of seasons reigneth, there the unstruck music sounds of itself,
There the streams of light flow in all directions, few are the men who can cross to that shore!
There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded,
Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads, where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas,
Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation, where millions of Indras dwell in the sky,
Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered, where millions of Saraswatis, goddess of music play the vina,
There is my Lord self-revealed, and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps. ~ Kabir, II.57, Translated by Rabindranath Tagore[26],
28:This Dog
   Every morning this dog, very attached to me,
   Quietly keeps sitting near my seat
   Till touching its head
   I recognize its company.
   This recognition gives it so much joy
   Pure delight ripples through its entire body.
   Among all dumb creatures
   It is the only living being
   That has seen the whole man
   Beyond what is good or bad in him
   It has seen
   For his love it can sacrifice its life
   It can love him too for the sake of love alone
   For it is he who shows the way
   To the vast world pulsating with life.
   When I see its deep devotion
   The offer of its whole being
   I fail to understand
   By its sheer instinct
   What truth it has discovered in man.
   By its silent anxious piteous looks
   It cannot communicate what it understands
   But it has succeeded in conveying to me
   Among the whole creation
   What is the true status of man.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,

*** WISDOM TROVE ***

1:Age considers; youth ventures. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
2:All that is not given is lost. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
3:God finds himself by creating. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
4:Merely to exist is not enough. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
5:For man is by nature an artist. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
6:Inspiration follows aspiration. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
7:Men are cruel, but Man is kind. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
8:Truth reveals itself in beauty. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
9:He alone may chastise who loves. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
10:Dreams can never be made captive. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
11:I am hidden in your heart, O Flower. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
12:Repentance is a gift of God's grace. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
13:Facts are many, but the truth is one. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
14:Those who own much have much to fear. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
15:We live in the world when we love it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
16:The greed for fruit misses the flower. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
17:To find God, you must welcome everything. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
18:Love gives beauty to everything it touches. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
19:Music fills the infinite between two souls. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
20:Truth looks tawdry when she is overdressed. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
21:Compliments win friends, honesty loses them. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
22:Praise shames me, for I secretly beg for it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
23:Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
24:The force of arms only reveals man s weakness. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
25:In Art, man reveals himself and not his objects. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
26:Life's aspirations come in the guise of children. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
27:Man is a rough-hewn and woman a finished product. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
28:Man is worse than an animal when he is an animal. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
29:Our creation is the modification of relationship. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
30:We gain freedom when we have paid the full price. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
31:Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
32:The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
33:Beauty is simply reality seen with the eyes of love ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
34:Be brave, right through, and leave for the unknown. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
35:Do not blame the food because you have no appetite. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
36:Let this be my last word, that I trust in thy love. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
37:Only in love are unity and duality not in conflict. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
38:That I exist is a perpetual surprise which is life. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
39:The movement of life has its rest in its own music. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
40:We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
41:Blessed is he whose fame does not outshine his truth. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
42:Love's gift cannot be given, it waits to be accepted. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
43:A thorn can only be extracted if you know where it is. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
44:Our responsibility is no longer to acquire, but to BE. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
45:Power takes as ingratitude the writhing of its victims ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
46:The fundamental desire of life is the desire to exist. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
47:The Great Morning which is for all, rises in the East. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
48:Wrong is wrong only when you are at liberty to choose. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
49:He who is too busy doing good finds no time to be good. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
50:The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
51:You can't cross a sea by merely staring into the water. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
52:The false can never grow into truth by growing in power. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
53:The significance which is in unity is an eternal wonder. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
54:Dark clouds become heaven's flowers when kissed by light. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
55:The best kind of wealth is to give up inordinate desires. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
56:What you are you do not see, what you see is your shadow. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
57:By touching you may kill, by keeping away you may possess. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
58:In death the many become one; in life the one become many. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
59:If you shut your door to all errors truth will be shut out. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
60:The burden of the self is lightened with I laugh at myself. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
61:The world speaks to me in colors, my soul answers in music. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
62:We come nearest to the great when we are great in humility. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
63:Death is turning out the lamp because the dawn has appeared. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
64:The bird thinks it a favor to give the fish a lift in the air ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
65:to tyrannize for the country is to tyrannize over the country ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
66:We are like newborn children, Our power is the power to grow. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
67:Depth of friendship does not depend on length of acquaintance. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
68:It's far better to make people angry than to make them ashamed. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
69:The mountain remains unmoved at its seeming defeat by the mist. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
70:The sparrow is sorry for the peacock at the burden of its tail. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
71:You have given me Your love, filling the world with Your gifts. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
72:And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
73:Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
74:God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man's hands. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
75:Love is not a mere impulse, it must contain truth, which is law. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
76:Man discovers his own wealth when God comes to ask gifts of him. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
77:Night's darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
78:I am able to love my God because He gives me freedom to deny Him. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
79:I do not love him because he is good, but because he is my child. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
80:If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
81:The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
82:The hours trip rapidly away, hiding their dreams in their skirts. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
83:Love adorns itself; it seeks to prove inward joy by outward beauty ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
84:Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
85:Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamour of silence. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
86:The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
87:The speech of my heart will be carried on in murmurings of a song. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
88:By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
89:Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
90:Life, like a child, laughs, shaking its rattle of death as it runs. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
91:There is no "next" after you are dead and gone from your own world. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
92:It is in the very heart of our activity that we search for our goal. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
93:It is no easy task to lead men. But it is easy enough to drive them. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
94:Leave out my name from the gift if it be a burden, but keep my song. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
95:Mistakes live in the neighbourhood of truth and therefore delude us. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
96:We cross infinity with every step; we meet eternity in every second. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
97:You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
98:Boasting is only a masked shame; it does not truly believe in itself. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
99:Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
100:It is very simple to be happy, but it is very difficult to be simple. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
101:The weak can be terrible because they try furiously to appear strong. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
102:While God waits for His temple to be built of love, men bring stones. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
103:I sit at my window gazing The world passes by, nods to me And is gone. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
104:It is the docile who achieve the most impossible things in this world. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
105:My fancies are fireflies Specks of living light twinkling in the dark. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
106:Set the bird's wings with gold and it will never again soar in thesky. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
107:The flower which is single need not envy the thorns that are numerous. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
108:Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
109:Trees are the earth's endless effort to speak to the listening heaven. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
110:When you have once taken up a responsibility, you must see it through. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
111:Bigotry tries to keep truth safe in its hand with a grip that kills it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
112:Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
113:The tyrant claims freedom to kill freedom, and yet keep it for himself. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
114:You are invited to the festival of this world and your life is blessed. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
115:If it is necessary to die in order to live like men, what harm in dying? ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
116:The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
117:I leave no trace of wings in the air, but I am glad I have had my flight. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
118:Someone spilled the ink on the canvas. Now boasts: "I painted the night". ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
119:To be outspoken is easy when you do not wait to speak the complete truth. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
120:Beauty is truth's smile when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
121:Don't limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
122:Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
123:Let my love like sunlight surround you and yet give you illumined freedom. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
124:Who are you, a hundred years from today, reading my poetry with curiosity? ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
125:Days are coloured bubbles that float upon the surface of fathomless nights. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
126:Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
127:The heart wants to go on; that is its dharma. For unless it moves, it dies. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
128:The past is always with us, for nothing that once was time can ever depart. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
129:The world has kissed my Soul with its pain, asking for its return in Songs. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
130:When we rejoice in our fullness, then we can part with our fruits with joy. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
131:A dewdrop is a perfect integrity that has no filial memory of its parentage. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
132:Plunge into the deep without fear, with the gladness of April in your heart. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
133:The artist is the lover of nature; therefore he is her slave and her master. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
134:The newer people of this modern age are more eager to amass than to realize. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
135:The roots below the earth claim no rewards for making the branches fruitful. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
136:To be constantly changing one's plans isn't decision at all-it's indecision. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
137:He who wants to do good knocks at the gate: he who loves finds the door open. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
138:I touch God in my songas the hill touched the far-away seawith its waterfall. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
139:Let not the hours pass by in the dark. Kindle the lamp of love with thy life. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
140:Never be afraid of the moments&
141:A lamp can only light another lamp when it continues to burn in its own flame. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
142:Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water, sings the pebbles into perfection. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
143:Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
144:What is Art? It is the response of man's creative soul to the call of the Real. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
145:Bravery ceases to be bravery at a certain point, and becomes mere foolhardiness. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
146:God seeks comrades and claims love, The devil seeks slaves and claims obedience. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
147:The biggest changes in a women's nature are brought by love; in man, by ambition ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
148:A mind all logic is like a knife all blade. It makes the hand bleed that uses it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
149:Let us not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless when facing them. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
150:Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high Where knowledge is free. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
151:Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music, my master! ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
152:Everything comes to us that belongs to us if we create the capacity to receive it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
153:Let the dead have the immortality of fame, but the living the immortality of love. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
154:The first flower that blossomed on this earth was an invitation to an unborn song. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
155:Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
156:that which is eternal within the moment only becomes shallow if spread out in time. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
157:I never give answers. I lead on from one question to another. That is my leadership. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
158:The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
159:Love is when the soul starts to sing and the flowers of your life bloom on their own. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
160:The real frienship is like fluorescence, it shines better when everything has darken. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
161:This I know... That often when I sang, and drummed, and danced, I found my eternity. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
162:To the guests that must go, bid God's speed and brush away all traces of their steps. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
163:Faith is a bird that can see the light when it is dawn and starts singing in the dark. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
164:Life finds its wealth by the claims of the world, and its worth by the claims of love. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
165:The singer alone does not make a song, there has to be someone who hears. -Broken Song ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
166:Your idol is shattered in the dust to prove that God's dust is greater than your idol. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
167:Love is an endless mystery, because there is no reasonable cause that could explain it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
168:Reach high, for stars lie hidden in you. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
169:The birth and death of leaves is part of that greater cycle that moves among the stars. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
170:The child ever dwells in the mystery of ageless time,unobscured by the dust of history. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
171:The flower fades and dies; but he who wears the flower has not to mourn for it for ever. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
172:The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
173:The truth comes as conqueror only because we have lost the art of receiving it as guest. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
174:Those who have everything but thee, my God, laugh at those who have nothing but thyself. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
175:You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this I had been waiting long. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
176:Everything has sprung from immortal life and is vibrating with life, for life is immense! ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
177:Love's over brimming mystery joins death and life. It has filled my cup of pain with joy. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
178:Unless you have found God in your own soul, the whole world will seem meaningless to you. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
179:April, like a child, Writes hieroglyphs on dust with flowers, Wipes them away and forgets. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
180:Once we dreamt that we were strangers. We wake up to find that we were dear to each other. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
181:When I go from hence, let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
182:Work, especially good work, becomes easy only when desire has learnt to discipline itself. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
183:Love remains a secret even when spoken, for only a true lover truly knows that he is loved. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
184:Oh, grant me my prayer, that I may never lose the touch of the one in the play of the many. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
185:Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
186:No civilized society can thrive upon victims, whose humanity has been permanently mutilated. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
187:Memory, the priestess, kills the present and offers its heart to the shrine of the dead past. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
188:We manage to swallow flesh, only because we do not think of the cruel and sinful thing we do. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
189:for we women are not only the deities of the household fire, but the flame of the soul itself. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
190:Let me light my lamp", says the star, "And never debate if it will help to remove the darkness ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
191:The main object of teaching is not to give explanations, but to knock at the doors of the mind. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
192:Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
193:I will sit in the pupil of your eyes and that will carry your sight into the heart of the things ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
194:Spurious fame spreads from tongue to tongue like the fog of the early dawn before the sun rises. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
195:Come oh come ye tea-thirsty restless ones - the kettle boils, bubbles and sings, musically. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
196:If you want to know India, study Vivekananda. In him everything is positive and nothing negative. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
197:Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house—do not pass by like a dream. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
198:The problem is not how to wipe out all differences, but how to unite with all differences intact. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
199:Whatever we treasure for ourselves separates us from others; our possessions are our limitations. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
200:When our universe is in harmony with man, the eternal, we know it as truth, we feel it as beauty. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
201:A butterfly flitting from flower to flower ever remains mine, I lose the one that is netted by me. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
202:Music fills the infinite between two souls. This has been muffled by the mist of our daily habits. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
203:My eyes have seen much, but they are not weary. My ears have heard much, but they thirst for more. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
204:Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt at being told that it is a fragment awaiting perfection. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
205:For every child that is born, it brings with it the hope that God is not yet disappointed with man. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
206:God, the Great Giver, can open the whole universe to our gaze in the narrow space of a single land. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
207:These paper boats of mine are meant to dance on the ripples of hours, and not reach any destination. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
208:And joy is everywhere; it is in the earth's green covering of grass; in the blue serenity of the sky. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
209:The Taj Mahal rises above the banks of the river like a solitary tear suspended on the cheek of time. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
210:Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep? ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
211:Death belongs to life as birth does The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
212:Gray hairs are signs of wisdom if you hold your tongue, speak and they are but hairs, as in the young. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
213:In the drowsy dark cave of the mind dreams build their nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
214:It is the same life that emerges in joy through the dust of the earth into numberless waves of flower. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
215:Nirvana is not the blowing out of the candle. It is the extinguishing of the flame because day is come. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
216:The soil in return for her service keeps the tree tied to her, the sky asks nothing and leaves it free. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
217:when you came you cried and everybody smiled with joy; when you go smile and let the world cry for you. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
218:Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and all my desires ripen into fruits of love. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
219:By unrighteousness man prospers, gains what appears desirable, conquer enemies, but perishes a the root. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
220:Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
221:If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
222:Jewel-Like the immortaldoes not boast of its length of yearsbut of the scintillating point of the moment. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
223:Death's stamp gives value to the coin of life; making it possible to buy with life what is truly precious. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
224:If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart, thy love for me still waits for my love. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
225:Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the afterglow of sunset at the margin of starry silence. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
226:Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty that can modulate their isolation into a harmony with the whole. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
227:The night kissed the fading day With a whisper: "I am death, your mother, From me you will get new birth." ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
228:Life itself is a strange mixture. We have to take it as it is, try to understand it, and then to better it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
229:And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it is thy power gives me strength to act. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
230:I have spent many days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
231:With begging and scrambling we find very little, but with being true to ourselves we find a great deal more. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
232:The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
233:I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
234:My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the dance-music of the tide in the evening. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
235:At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
236:Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
237:The danger inherent in all force grows stronger when it is likely to gain success, for then it becomes temptation. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
238:Whether joy or sorrow, pain or pleasure; whatsoever may befall thee, accept it serenely with an unvanquished heart. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
239:We do not stray out of all words into the ever silent; We do not raise our hands to the void for things beyond hope. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
240:Love is the only reality and it is not a mere sentiment. It is the ultimate truth that lies at the heart of creation. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
241:When I stand before thee at the day's end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
242:From the solemn gloom of the temple children run out to sit in the dust, God watches them play and forgets the priest. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
243:Asks the Possible of the Impossible, "Where is your dwelling-place?" "In the dreams of the Impotent," comes the answer. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
244:Man is immortal; therefore he must die endlessly. For life is a creative idea; it can only find itself in changing forms ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
245:This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
246:YOU are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf, I am the smaller one on its upper side,' said the dewdrop to the lake. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
247:The highest education is that which does not merely give us information but makes our life in harmony with all existence. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
248:Languages are jealous sovereigns, and passports are rarely allowed for travellers to cross their strictly guarded borders. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
249:We sit inert, like dead specimens of some museum, while lessons are pelted at us from on high, like hailstones on flowers. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
250:I am ashamed of my emptiness," said the Word to the Work. "I know how poor I am when I see you," said the Work to the Word. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
251:Now it is time to sit quiet, face to face with thee, and to sing dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
252:To the birds you gave songs, the birds gave you songs in return. You gave me only a voice, yet asked for more, thus I sing. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
253:Clouds come floating into my life from other days no longer to shed rain or usher storm but to give colour to my sunset sky. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
254:The human soul is on its journey from the law to love, from discipline to liberation, from the moral plane to the spiritual. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
255:In the world's audience hall, the simple blade of grass sits on the same carpet with the sunbeams, and the stars of midnight. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
256:If you allow your mind to carp at all and sundry, it will turn against itself: the majority of our sorrows are self-inflicted. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
257:In the mountain, stillness surges up to explore its own height In the lake, movement stands still to contemplate its own depth. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
258:Other animals ran only when they had a reason, but the horse would run for no reason whatever, as if to run out of his own skin ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
259:Please is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your eyes. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
260:The one who plants trees, knowing that he will never sit in their shade, has at least started to understand the meaning of life. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
261:Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave. The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
262:When I think of ages past That have floated down the stream Of life and love and death, I feel how free it makes us To pass away. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
263:Grant me that I may not be a coward, feeling your mercy in my success alone; but let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
264:That which oppresses me, is it my soul trying to come out in the open, or the soul of the world knocking at my heart for entrance? ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
265:The potentiality of perfection outweighs actual contradictions... Existence in itself is here to prove that it cannot be an evil. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
266:Overstraining is the enemy of accomplishment. Calm strength that arises from a deep and inexhaustible source is what brings success. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
267:The infinite being has assumed unto himself the mystery of finitude. And in him who is love the finite and the infinite are made one. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
268:Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
269:Some day I shall sing to thee in the sunrise of some other world, I have seen thee before in the light of the earth, in the love of man. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
270:master poet, I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
271:Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
272:Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action-Into that heaven of freedom, my father, let my country awake. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
273:Do not say, &
274:My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
275:[The poets' role is that of] capturing on their instruments the secret stir of life in the air and giving it voice in the music of prophecy ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
276:The progress of our soul is like a perfect poem. It has an infinite idea which, once realised, makes all movements full of meaning and joy. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
277:The greatest distance in this World is not that between living and death, it is when I am just before you, and you don't know that I Love You. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
278:We are hidden in ourselves, like a truth hidden in isolated facts. When we know that this One in us is One in all, then our truth is revealed. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
279:Discipline divorced from wisdom is not true discipline, but merely the meaningless following of custom, which is only a disguise for stupidity. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
280:The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark. The small truth has words which are clear; the great truth has great silence. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
281:Those who in this world have the courage to try and solve in their own lives new problems of life, are the ones who raise society to greatness. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
282:The earth paints a portrait of the sun at dawn with sunflowers in bloom. Unhappy with the portrait, she erases it and paints it again and again. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
283:Let my doing nothing when I have nothing to do, become untroubled in its depth of peace, like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
284:Men can only think. Women have a way of understanding without thinking. Woman was created out of God's own fancy. Man, He had to hammer into shape. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
285:Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
286:The small wisdom is like water in a glass: clear, transparent, pure. The great wisdom is like the water in the sea: dark, mysterious, impenetrable. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
287:If I can't make it through one door, I'll go through another door- or i'll make a door. Something terrific will come no matter how dark the present. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
288:The question and the cry &
289:The spirit of rejection finds its support in the consciousness of separateness; the spirit of acceptance finds its base in the consciousness of unity. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
290:If God had so wished, he would have made all Indians speak with one language ... the unity of India has been and shall always be a unity in diversity. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
291:Man's freedom is never in being saved from troubles, but it is the freedom to take trouble for his own good, to make the trouble an element in his joy. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
292:The most important lesson that man can learn from life, is not that there is pain in this world, but that it is possible for him to transmute it into joy. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
293:When old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
294:Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield,But to my own strength. Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved,But for the patience to win my freedom. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
295:Saltwater heals, healing referring to its various forms; tears, cleanses and heals the soul; sweat, cleanses through labor; the ocean, heals in all its forms. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
296:The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
297:Art awakens a sense of real by establishing an intimate relationship between our inner being and the universe at large, bringing us a consciousness of deep joy. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
298:Let the splendor of diamond, pearl and ruby vanish? Only let this one teardrop, this Taj Mahal, glisten spotlessly bright on the cheek of time, forever and ever. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
299:Only those of tranquil minds, and none else, can attain abiding joy, by realizing within their souls the Being who manifests one essence in a multiplicity of forms. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
300:Power said to the world, "You are mine." The world kept it prisoner on her throne. Love said to the world, "I am thine." The world gave it the freedom of her house. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
301:I have listened And I have looked  With open eyes.  I have poured my soul  Into the world  Seeking the unknown  Within the known.  And I sing out loud  In amazement. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
302:Only in silence I find myself. Life in the city is so hectic that you lose the right perspective. It's important to know that our biggest resources are in our heart. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
303:I am willing to serve my country, but my worship I reserve for Right which is far greater than my country. To worship my country as a god is to bring a curse upon it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
304:And, indeed, what little of beauty and peace is to be found in the societies of men is owing to the daily performance of small duties, not to big doings and fine talk. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
305:The young student sits with his head bent over his books, and his mind straying in youth's dreamland; where prose is prowling on the desk and poetry hiding in the heart. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
306:I'm lost in the middle of my birthday. I want my friends, their touch, with the earth's last love. I will take life's final offering, I will take the last human blessing. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
307:God is neither manifest nor hidden; He is neither revealed nor unrevealed; there are no words to tell that which He is. He is without form, without quality, without decay. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
308:Those who think to reach God by running away from the world, when and where do they expect to meet him? We are reaching him here in this very spot, now at this very moment. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
309:It means that God's Creation has not its source in any necessity; it comes from his fullness of joy; it is his love that creates, therefore in Creation is his own revealment. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
310:Woman, you are not merely the handiwork of God, but also of men; these are ever endowing you with beauty from their own hearts ... You are one-half woman and one-half dream. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
311:If religion, instead of being the manifestation of a spiritual ideal, gives prominence to scriptures and external rites, then does it disturb the peace more than anything else. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
312:The thing which seems so glorious when viewed from the heights of the country's cause looks so muddy when seen from the bottom. One begins by getting angry and then feels disgusted. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
313:I ask my destiny - what power is this That cruelly drives me onward without rest? My destiny says, "Look round!" I turn back and see It is I myself that is ever pushing me from behind. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
314:I believe in a spiritual world - not as anything separate from this world - but as its innermost truth. With the breath we draw we must always feel this truth, that we are living in God. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
315:The pious sectarian is proud because he is confident of his right of possession in God. The man of devotion is meek because he is conscious of God's right of love over his life and soul. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
316:This is the ultimate end of man, to find the One which is in him; which is his truth, which is his soul; the key with which he opens the gate of the spiritual life, the heavenly kingdom. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
317:I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever. He who wants to do good, knocks at the gate; He who loves, finds the door open. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
318:This principle of opposites is at the very root of Creation, which is divided between the rule of the King and the Queen; Night and Day; the One and the Varied; the Eternal and the Evolving. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
319:The fish in the water is silent, the animals on the earth is noisy, the bird in the air is singing. But man has in him the silence of the sea, the noise of the earth and the music of the air. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
320:Most people believe the mind to be a mirror, more or less accurately reflecting the world outside them, not realizing on the contrary that the mind is itself the principal element of creation. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
321:When he has the power to see things detached from self-interest and from the insistent claims of the lust of the senses, then alone can he have the true vision of the beauty that is everywhere. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
322:For many years, at great cost, I traveled through many countries, saw the high mountains, the oceans. The only things I did not see were the sparkling dewdrops in the grass just outside my door. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
323:Pessimism is a form of mental dipsomania; it disdains healthy nourishment, indulges in the strong drink of denunciation, and creates an artificial dejection which thirsts for a stronger draught. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
324:Whatever we understand and enjoy in human products instantly becomes ours, wherever they might have their origin... Let me feel with unalloyed gladness that all the great glories of man are mine. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
325:Patriotism cannot be our final spiritual shelter; my refuge is humanity. I will not buy glass for the price of diamonds, and I will never allow patriotism to triumph over humanity as long as I live. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
326:And because I love this life I know I shall love death as well The child cries out when From the right breast the mother Takes it away, in the very next moment To find in the left one Its consolation. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
327:As poet-philosopher Rabindranath Tagore reminds us, "We cannot cross the sea merely by staring at the water." Simplicity has power. And living on purpose comes to this: Just do it. How much simpler can we get? ~ dan-millman, @wisdomtrove
328:The more one lives alone on the river or in the open country, the clearer it becomes that nothing is more beautiful or great than to perform the ordinary duties of one's daily life simply and naturally. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
329:On each race is laid the duty to keep alight its own lamp of mind as its part in the illumination of the world. To break the lamp of any people into deprive it of its rightful place in the world festival. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
330:The tragedy of human life consists in our vain attempts to stretch the limits of things which can never become unlimited, to reach the infinite by absurdly adding to the rungs of the ladder of the finite. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
331:Whenever our life is stirred by truth, it expresses energy and comes to be filled, as it were, with a creative ardor. This consciousness of the creative urge is evidence of the force of truth on our mind. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
332:Man's abiding happiness is not in getting anything but in giving himself up to what is greater than himself, to ideas which are larger than his individual life, the idea of his country, of humanity, of God. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
333:We do not want nowadays temples of worship and outward rites and ceremonies. What we really want is an Asram. We want a place where the beauty of nature and the noblest pursuits of man are in a sweet harmony. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
334:I have read in books that we are called &
335:Perhaps that dawn will come from this horizon, from the East where the sun rises. A day will come when unvanquished Man will retrace his path of conquest, despite all barriers, to win back his lost human heritage. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
336:He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches. He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes and joyfully plays on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
337:From the grasses in the field to the stars in the sky, each one is doing just that; and there is such profound peace and surpassing beauty in nature because none of these tries forcibly to transgress its limitations. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
338:Great calm, generous detachment, selfless love, disinterested effort: these are what make for success in life. If you can find peace in yourself and can spread comfort around you, you will be happier than an empress. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
339:The touch of an infinite mystery passes over the trivial and the familiar, making it break out into ineffable music... The trees, the stars, and the blue hills ache with a meaning which can never be uttered in words. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
340:Today I feel that I shall win through. I have come to the gateway of the simple; I am now content to see things as they are. I have gained freedom myself; I shall allow freedom to others. In my work will be my salvation. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
341:True deliverance of man is the deliverance from Avidya i.e. ignorance. It is not in destroying anything that is positive and real, for that cannot be possible, but that which is negative, which obstructs our vision of truth. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
342:Life is perpetually creative because it contains in itself that surplus which ever overflows the boundaries of the immediate time and space, restlessly pursuing its adventure of expression in the varied forms of self-realization. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
343:Your love keeps me afloat but will remain the anchor in my soul... I don't really have words to describe how romantic I find that. Your love is what keeps me going, but it's also the anchor that keeps me close to you. I love it! ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
344:It dances today, my heart, like a peacock it dances, it dances.  It sports a mosaic of passions like a peacock's tail,  It soars to the sky with delight, it quests,  Oh wildly, it dances today, my heart,  like a peacock it dances. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
345:Music is the purest form of art... therefore true poets... seek to express the universe in terms of music. The singer has everything within him. The notes come out from his very life. They are not materials gathered from outside. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
346:Everything comes to us that belongs to us if we create the capacity to receive it. Every difficulty slurred over will be a ghost to disturb your repose later on. Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
347:You have made me known to friends whom I knew not. You have given me seats in homes not my own. You have brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger... When one knows You, then there is no alien, and no door is shut. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
348:The meaning of our self is not to be found in its separateness from God and others, but in the ceaseless realization of yoga, of union; not on the side of the canvas where it is blank, but on the side where the picture is being painted. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
349:The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart . . . ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
350:Days come and ages pass, and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name, in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow. Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
351:In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of my house. I find her not. My house is small and what once has gone from it can never be regained. But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and seeking her I have come to thy door. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
352:My dearest life, I know you are not mine forever; but do love me even if it's for this moment. After that I shall vanish into the forest where you cast me, I won't ask anyone for anything again. Give me something that can last me till I die. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
353:If life's journey be endless where is its goal? The answer is, it is everywhere. We are in a palace which has no end, but which we have reached. By exploring it and extending our relationship with it we are ever making it more and more our own. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
354:Religion is not a fractional thing that can be doled out in fixed weekly or daily measures as one among various subjects in the school syllabus. It is the truth of our complete being, the consciousness of our personal relationship with the infinite. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
355:The child learns so easily because he has a natural gift, but adults, because they are tyrants, ignore natural gifts and say that children must learn through the same process that they learned by. We insist upon forced mental feeding and our lessons ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
356:According to the true Indian view, our consciousness of the world, merely as the sum total of things that exist, and as governed by laws, is imperfect. But it is perfect when our consciousness realizes all things as spiritually one with it, and there ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
357:The higher nature in man always seeks for something which transcends itself and yet is its deepest truth; which claims all its sacrifice, yet makes this sacrifice its own recompense. This is man's dharma, man's religion, and man's self is the vessel. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
358:There is a moral law in this world which has its application both to individuals and organized bodies of men. You cannot go on violating these laws in the name of your nation, yet enjoy their advantage as individuals. We may forget truth for our conv ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
359:When the heat and motion of blind impulses and passions distract it on all sides, we can neither give nor receive anything truly. But when we find our centre in our soul by the power of self-restraint, by the force that harmonizes all warring element ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
360:Poems On Time The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth. Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
361:Religion, like poetry, is not a mere idea, it is expression. The self-expression of God is in the endless variety of creation; and our attitude toward the Infinite Being must also in its expression have a variety of individuality ceaseless and unendi. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
362:The birds looked upon me as nothing but a man, quite a trifling creature without wings-and they would have nothing to do with me. Were it not so I would build a small cabin for myself among their crowd of nests and pass my days counting the sea waves. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
363:The greed of gain has no time or limit to its capaciousness. Its one object is to produce and consume. It has pity neither for beautiful nature nor for living human beings. It is ruthlessly ready without a moment's hesitation to crush beauty and life. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
364:We try to realize the essential unity of the world with the conscious soul of man; we learn to perceive the unity held together by the one Eternal Spirit, whose power creates the earth, the sky, and the stars, and at the same time irradiates our mind. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
365:When we accept any discipline for ourselves, we try to avoid everything except that which is necessary for our purpose; it is this purposefulness, which belongs to the adult mind, that we force upon school children. We say, "Never keep your mind aler. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
366:Poems On Love Love adorns itself; it seeks to prove inward joy by outward beauty. Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom. Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it. Love's gift cannot be given, it waits to be accepted. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
367:For the current of our spiritual life creeds, rituals and channels that may thwart or help, according to their fixity or openness. When a symbol or spiritual idea becomes rigidly elaborate in its construction, it supplants the idea which it should support. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
368:I am restless. I am athirst for faraway things. My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance. O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute! I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
369:Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark. In effect, the people who change our lives the most begin to sing to us while we are still in darkness. If we listen to their song, we will see the dawning of a new part of ourselves. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
370:I have on my table a violin string. It is free to move in any direction I like. If I twist one end, it responds; it is free. But it is not free to sing. So I take it and fix it into my violin. I bind it and when it is bound, it is free for the first time to sing. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
371:Whatever character our theology may ascribe to him, in reality God is the infinite ideal of Man, towards whom men move in their collective growth, with whom they seek their union of love as individuals, in whom they find their ideal of father, friend and beloved. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
372:It sometimes strikes me how immensely fortunate I am that each day should take its place in my life, either reddened with the rising and setting sun, or refreshingly cool with deep, dark clouds, or blooming like a white flower in the moonlight. What untold wealth! ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
373:The water vessel, taken as a vessel only, raises the question, "Why does it exist at all?" Through its fitness of construction, it offers the apology for its existence. But where it is a work of beauty it has no question to answer; it has nothing to do, but to be. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
374:Those who draw their sustenance from science are blessed. It is for me to only derive an occasional pleasure. This is nothing worthy of conceit, but I am indeed touched by the joys. This book is an ode to such joys, a digest of my collections from various sources. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
375:Great suffering brings with it the power of great endurance. When sorrow is deepest all the forces of patience and courage are banded together to do their duty. So while we are cowards before petty troubles, great sorrows make us brave by rousing our truer manhood. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
376:Our self (Soul), as a form of God's joy, is deathless. For his joy is amritham, eternal bliss. We know that the life of a Soul, which is finite in its expression and infinite in its principle, must go through the portals of death in its journey to realize the infinite. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
377:The cure for all the illness of life is stored in the inner depth of life itself, the access to which becomes possible when we are alone. This solitude is a world in itself, full of wonders and resources unthought of. It is absurdly near; yet so unapproachably distant. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
378:Where roads are made I lose my way.In the wide water, in the blue sky there is no line of a track.The pathway is hidden by the birds' wings, by the star-fires, by the flowers of the wayfaring seasons.And I ask my heart if its blood carries the wisdom of the unseen way. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
379:The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
380:The smile that flickers on a baby's lips when he sleeps- does anyone know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumor that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
381:False hope is clung to with all one's might and main, till a day comes when it has sucked the heart dry and it forcibly breaks through its bonds and departs. After that comes the misery of awakening, and then once again the longing to get back into the maze of the same mistakes. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
382:I have observed, on board a steamer, how men and women easily give way to their instinct for flirtation, because water has the power of washing away our sense of responsibility, and those who on land resemble the oak in their firmness behave like floating seaweed when on the sea. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
383:The meaning of the living words that come out of the experiences of great hearts can never be exhausted by any one system of logical interpretation. They have to be endlessly explained by the commentaries of individual lives, and they gain an added mystery in each new revelation. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
384:Life's fulfillment finds constant obstacles in its path; but those are necessary for the sake of its advance. The stream is saved from the sluggishness of its current by the perpetual opposition of the soil through which it must cut its way. The spirit of fight belongs to the genius of life. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
385:My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes. They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the stars. My songs are lost in their depths. Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity. Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
386:Yet what each one does is by no means of little moment. The grass has to put forth all its energy to draw sustenance from the uttermost tips of its rootlets simply to grow where it is as grass; it does not vainly strive to become a banyan tree; and so the earth gains a lovely carpet of green. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
387:Melody and harmony are like lines and colors in pictures. A simple linear picture may be completely beautiful; the introduction of color may make it vague and insignificant. Yet color may, by combination with lines, create great pictures, so long as it does not smother and destroy their value. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
388:I thought that my invincible power would hold the world captive, leaving me in a freedom undisturbed. Thus night and day I worked at the chain with huge fires and cruel hard strokes. When at last the work was done and the links were complete and unbreakable, I found that it held me in its grip. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
389:One who has never known the turbulence of life, in whom the petals of the mysterious flower within have never opened; such a one may seem happy, may seem a saint, his single track mind may impress the multitude with its power - but he is ill equipped for life's true adventure into the infinite. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
390:Those who are near me do not know that you are nearer to me than they are Those who speak to me do not know that my heart is full with your unspoken words Those who crowd in my path do not know that I am walking alone with you Those who love me do not know that their love brings you to my heart ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
391:Children are living beings - more living than grown-up people who have built shells of habit around themselves. Therefore it is absolutely necessary for their mental health and development that they should not have mere schools for their lessons, but a world whose guiding spirit is personal love. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
392:He only has freedom who ideally loves freedom himself and is glad to extend it to others. He who cares to have slaves must chain himself to them. He who builds walls to create exclusion for others builds walls across his own freedom. He who distrusts freedom in others loses his moral right to it. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
393:... let us unite, not in spite of our differences, but through them. For differences can never be wiped away, and life would be so much the poorer without them. Let all human races keep their own personalities, and yet come together, not in a uniformity that is dead, but in a unity that is living. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
394:Music is the purest form of art, and therefore the most direct expression of beauty, with a form and spirit which is one and simple, and least encumbered with anything extraneous. We seem to feel that the manifestation of the infinite in the finite forms of creation is music itself, silent and visible. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
395:I've travelled all around the world to see the rivers and the mountains, and I've spent a lot of money. I have gone to great lengths, I have seen everything, but I forgot to see just outside my house a dewdrop on a little blade of grass, a dewdrop which reflects in its convexity the whole universe around you. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
396:Poems On Life: Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it. Let the dead have the immortality of fame, but the living the immortality of love. Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty that can modulate their isolation into a harmony with the whole. Life, like a child, laughs, shaking its rattle of death as it runs. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
397:There is a point where in the mystery of existence contradictions meet; where movement is not all movement and stillness is not all stillness; where the idea and the form, the within and the without, are united; where infinite becomes finite, yet not losing its infinity. If this meeting is dissolved, then things become unreal. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
398:A teacher can never truly teach unless he is still learning himself. A lamp can never light another lamp unless it continues to burn its own flame. The teacher who has come to the end of his subject, who has no living traffic with his knowledge but merely repeats his lesson to his students, can only load their minds, he cannot quicken them. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
399:If someone smells a flower and says he does not understand, the reply to him is: there is nothing to understand, it is only a scent. If he persists, saying: that I know, but what does it all mean? Then one has either to change the subject, or make it more abstruse by saying that the scent is the shape which the universal joy takes in the flower. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
400:Our scientific world is our world of reasoning. It has its greatness and uses and attractions. We are ready to pay homage due to it. But when it claims to have discovered the real world for us and laughs at the worlds of all simple-minded men, then we must say it is like a general grown intoxicated with his power, usurping the throne of his king ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
401:Plant flowers in others' gardens and your life becomes a bouquet! Submitted by Lisa Letto, Coordinator, Nutrition Resource and Volunteer Centre, College of Pharmacy and Nutrition, University of Saskatchewan, Saskatchewan, Canada I slept and I dreamed that life is all joy, I woke and I saw that life is all service. I served and I saw that service is joy. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
402:Brahma was excessively sparing with earth, water, and fire... . The reckless expenditure of air and ether in his composition was amazing. And, in consequence, he perpetually struggled to outreach the wind, to outrun space itself. Other animals ran only when they had a reason, but the Horse would run for no reason whatever, as if to run out of his own skin. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
403:Joy is there everywhere; it is superfluous, unnecessary; nay, it very often contradicts the most peremptory behests of necessity. It exists to show that the bonds of law can only be explained by love; they are like body and soul. Joy is the realisation of the truth of oneness, the oneness of our soul with the world and of the world-soul with the supreme lover. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
404:By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in this world. But it is otherwise with thy love which is greater than theirs, and thout keepst me free. Lest I forgot them they never venture to leave me alone. But day passes by after day and thou art not seen. If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart, thy love for me still waits for my love. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
405:Let it not be death but completeness. Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.  Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.  Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.  Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.  I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
406:I have long been an ardent believer in the science of Homeopathy and I feel happy that it has got now a greater hold in India than even in the land of its origin. It is not merely a collection of a few medicines but a real science with a rational philosophy at its base. We require more scientific interest and inquiry into the matter with special stress upon the Indian environment ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
407:poor, unthinking human heart! Error will not go away, logic and reason are slow to penetrate.We cling with both arms to false hope, refusing to believe in the weightiest proofs against it, embracing it with all our strength. In the end it escapes, ripping our veins and draining our heart's blood; until, regaining consciousness, we rush to fall into snares of delusion all over again ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
408:Joy is everywhere; it is in the earth's green covering of grass: in the blue serenity of the sky: in the reckless exuberance of spring: in the severe abstinence of grey winter: in the living flesh that animates our bodily frame: in the perfect poise of the human figure, noble and upright: in living, in the exercise of all our powers: in the acquisition of knowledge. . . Joy is there everywhere. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
409:Our self (Soul) is maya (an illusion) where it is merely individual and finite, where it considers its separateness as absolute; it is satyam (truth) where it recognizes its essence in the universal and infinite, in the Supreme Self, in paramatman (God). This is what Christ means when he says, "Before Abraham was, I am" (i.e. before Abraham was God, who is the same that is in my soul - I am That.) ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
410:I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power, that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted, and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity, but I find that thy will knows no end in me, and when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart, and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
411:Things in which we do not take joy are either a burden upon our minds to be got rid of at any cost; or they are useful, and therefore in temporary and partial relation to us, becoming burdensome when their utility is lost; or they are like wandering vagabonds, loitering for a moment on the outskirts of our recognition, and then passing on. A thing is only completely our own when it is a thing of joy to us. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
412:Say of him what you please, but I know my child's failings. I do not love him because he is good, but because he is my little child. How should you know how dear he can be when you try to weigh his merits against his faults? When I must punish him he becomes all the more a part of my being. When I cause his tears to come my heart weeps with him. I alone have a right to blame and punish, for he only may chastise who loves. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
413:If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its head bent low with patience. The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky. Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds' nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
414:A message came from my youth of vanished days, saying, &
415:Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence? I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds. Open your doors and look abroad. From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before. In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across a hundred years. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
416:Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all. Let only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel thee on every side, and come to thee in everything, and offer to thee my love every moment. Let only that little be left of me whereby I may never hide thee. Let only that little of my fetters be left whereby I am bound with thy will, and thy purpose is carried out in my life&
417:My Friend: Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend? The sky groans like one in despair. I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look out on the darkness, my friend! I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path! By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading thy course to come to me, my friend? ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
418:Give Me Strength This is my prayer to thee, my lord - strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart. Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows. Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service. Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might. Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles. And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
419:We cannot look upon our lives as dreams of a dreamer who has no awakening in all time. We have a personality to which matter and force are unmeaning unless related to something infinitely personal, whose nature we have discovered, in some measure, in human love, in the greatness of the good, in the martyrdom of heroic souls, in the ineffable beauty of nature, which can never be a mere physical fact nor anything but an expression of personality. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
420:Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it. Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield but to my own strength.  Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved but hope for the patience to win my freedom.  Grant me that I may not be a coward, feeling your mercy in my success alone; but let me find the grasp of your  hand in my failure. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
421:Children who are decked with prince's robes and who have jeweled chains round their necks lose all pleasure in play; their dress hampers them at every step. In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust, they keep themselves from the world and are afraid ever to move. Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keep one shut off from the healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right of entrance to the great fair of common human life. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
422:When I go from hence, let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable. I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus that expands on the ocean of light, and thus I am blessed—let this be my parting word. In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had my play and here have I caught sight of him who is formless. My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it come—let this be my parting word. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
423:Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of the earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart. The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother- dust. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
424:Only Thee That I want thee, only thee - let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core. As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry - `I want thee, only thee'. As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is - `I want thee, only thee'. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
425:The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart‚¶.. I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house‚¶.. But the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house; I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
426:Somewhere in the arrangement of this world there seems to be a great concern about giving us delight, which shows that, in the universe, over and above the meaning of matter and forces, there is a message conveyed through the magic touch of personality. ... Is it merely because the rose is round and pink that it gives me more satisfaction than the gold which could buy me the necessities of life, or any number of slaves. ... Somehow we feel that through a rose the language of love reached our hearts. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
427:Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high, where knowledge is free. Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls. Where words come out from the depth of truth, where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection. Where the clear stream of reason has not lost it's way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit. Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever widening thought and action. In to that heaven of freedom, my father, LET MY COUNTRY AWAKE! ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
428:Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break them. Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed. I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills my room. The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet hug it in love. My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
429:When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of mercy. When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song. When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest. When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king. When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one, thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
430:Let us not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless when facing them." "Everything comes to us that belongs to us if we create the capacity to receive it." "Life is perpetually creative because it contains in itself that surplus which ever overflows the boundaries of the immediate time and space, restlessly pursuing its adventure of expression in the varied forms of self-realization." "The highest education is that which does not merely give us information but makes our life in harmony with all existence. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
431:The realization of our soul has its moral and its spiritual side. The moral side represents training of unselfishness, control of desire; the spiritual side represents sympathy and love. They should be taken together and never separated. The cultivation of the merely moral side of our nature leads us to the dark region of narrowness and hardness of heart, to the intolerant arrogance of goodness; and the cultivation of the merely spiritual side of our nature leads us to a still darker region of revelry in intemperance of imagination. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
432:Go not to the temple to put flowers upon the feet of God, first fill your own house with the fragrance of love. Go not to the temple to light candles before the altar of God, first remove the darkness of sin from your heart. Go not to the temple to bow down your head in prayer, first learn to bow in humility before your fellow men. Go not to the temple to pray on bended knees, first bend down to lift someone who is down trodden. Go not to the temple to ask for forgiveness for your sins, first forgive from your heart those who have sinned against you. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
433:According to the true Indian view, our consciousness of the world, merely as the sum total of things that exist, and as governed by laws, is imperfect. But it is perfect when our consciousness realizes all things as spiritually one with it, and therefore capable of giving us joy. For us the highest purpose of this world is not merely living in it, knowing it and making use of it, but realizing our own selves in it through expansion of sympathy; not alienating ourselves from it and dominating it, but comprehending and uniting it with ourselves in perfect union. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove
434:In love at one of its poles you find the personal, and at the other the impersonal. At one you have the positive assertion ‚ Here I am; at the other the equally strong denial ‚I am not. Without this ego what is love? And again, with only this ego how can love be possible? Bondage and liberation are not antagonistic in love. For love is most free and at the same time most bound. If God were absolutely free there would be no creation. The infinite being has assumed unto himself the mystery of finitude. And in him who is love the finite and the infinite are made one. ~ rabindranath-tagore, @wisdomtrove

*** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***

1:I have listened ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
2:April, like a child, ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
3:It dances today, my heart, ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
4:And because I love this life ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
5:Age considers; youth ventures. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
6:All that is not given is lost. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
7:God finds himself by creating. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
8:Merely to exist is not enough. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
9:For man is by nature an artist. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
10:Inspiration follows aspiration. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
11:Men are cruel, but Man is kind. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
12:Truth reveals itself in beauty. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
13:He alone may chastise who loves. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
14:Dreams can never be made captive. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
15:God seeks comrades and claims love, ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
16:I am hidden in your heart, O Flower. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
17:Repentance is a gift of God's grace. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
18:Facts are many, but the truth is one. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
19:Those who own much have much to fear. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
20:We live in the world when we love it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
21:The greed for fruit misses the flower. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
22:To find God, you must welcome everything. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
23:Music fills the infinite between two souls ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
24:Love gives beauty to everything it touches. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
25:Music fills the infinite between two souls. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
26:Truth looks tawdry when she is overdressed. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
27:Compliments win friends, honesty loses them. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
28:Praise shames me, for I secretly beg for it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
29:Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
30:The force of arms only reveals man s weakness. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
31:In Art, man reveals himself and not his objects. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
32:Life's aspirations come in the guise of children. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
33:Man is a rough-hewn and woman a finished product. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
34:Man is worse than an animal when he is an animal. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
35:Our creation is the modification of relationship. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
36:We gain freedom when we have paid the full price. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
37:Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
38:The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
39:Beauty is simply reality seen with the eyes of love ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
40:Be brave, right through, and leave for the unknown. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
41:Do not blame the food because you have no appetite. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
42:Let this be my last word, that I trust in thy love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
43:Only in love are unity and duality not in conflict. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
44:That I exist is a perpetual surprise which is life. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
45:The movement of life has its rest in its own music. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
46:Let this be my last word, that I trust in your love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
47:We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
48:Blessed is he whose fame does not outshine his truth. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
49:Love's gift cannot be given, it waits to be accepted. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
50:A thorn can only be extracted if you know where it is. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
51:Our responsibility is no longer to acquire, but to BE. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
52:Power takes as ingratitude the writhing of its victims ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
53:The fundamental desire of life is the desire to exist. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
54:The Great Morning which is for all, rises in the East. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
55:We do not stray out of all words into the ever silent; ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
56:Wrong is wrong only when you are at liberty to choose. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
57:He who is too busy doing good finds no time to be good. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
58:The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
59:You can't cross a sea by merely staring into the water. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
60:The false can never grow into truth by growing in power. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
61:The significance which is in unity is an eternal wonder. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
62:Dark clouds become heaven's flowers when kissed by light. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
63:The best kind of wealth is to give up inordinate desires. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
64:What you are you do not see, what you see is your shadow. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
65:By touching you may kill, by keeping away you may possess. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
66:In death the many become one; in life the one become many. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
67:If you shut your door to all errors truth will be shut out. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
68:The burden of the self is lightened with I laugh at myself. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
69:The world speaks to me in colors, my soul answers in music. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
70:We come nearest to the great when we are great in humility. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
71:Death is turning out the lamp because the dawn has appeared. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
72:The bird thinks it a favor to give the fish a lift in the air ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
73:to tyrannize for the country is to tyrannize over the country ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
74:We are like newborn children, Our power is the power to grow. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
75:Depth of friendship does not depend on length of acquaintance. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
76:The devil seeks slaves and claims obedience. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, Fireflies (1928),
77:I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
78:It's far better to make people angry than to make them ashamed. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
79:The mountain remains unmoved at its seeming defeat by the mist. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
80:The sparrow is sorry for the peacock at the burden of its tail. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
81:You have given me Your love, filling the world with Your gifts. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
82:And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
83:God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man's hands. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
84:Love is not a mere impulse, it must contain truth, which is law. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
85:Man discovers his own wealth when God comes to ask gifts of him. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
86:Night's darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
87:I am able to love my God because He gives me freedom to deny Him. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
88:I do not love him because he is good, but because he is my child. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
89:If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
90:The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
91:The hours trip rapidly away, hiding their dreams in their skirts. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
92:By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
93:Love adorns itself; it seeks to prove inward joy by outward beauty ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
94:Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
95:Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamour of silence. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
96:O Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
97:The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
98:The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
99:The speech of my heart will be carried on in murmurings of a song. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
100:By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
101:Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
102:Life, like a child, laughs, shaking its rattle of death as it runs. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
103:There is no "next" after you are dead and gone from your own world. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
104:It is in the very heart of our activity that we search for our goal. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
105:It is no easy task to lead men. But it is easy enough to drive them. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
106:It is very simple to be happy,but it is very difficult to be simple. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
107:Leave out my name from the gift if it be a burden, but keep my song. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
108:Mistakes live in the neighbourhood of truth and therefore delude us. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
109:We cross infinity with every step; we meet eternity in every second. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
110:You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
111:You can’t cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
112:Boasting is only a masked shame; it does not truly believe in itself. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
113:Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
114:It is very simple to be happy, but it is very difficult to be simple. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
115:The weak can be terrible because they try furiously to appear strong. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
116:While God waits for His temple to be built of love, men bring stones. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
117:I sit at my window gazing The world passes by, nods to me And is gone. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
118:It is the docile who achieve the most impossible things in this world. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
119:It is very simple to be happy, but it is very difficult to be simple. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
120:My fancies are fireflies Specks of living light twinkling in the dark. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
121:Set the bird's wings with gold and it will never again soar in thesky. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
122:The flower which is single need not envy the thorns that are numerous. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
123:Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
124:Trees are the earth's endless effort to speak to the listening heaven. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
125:When you have once taken up a responsibility, you must see it through. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
126:Bigotry tries to keep truth safe in its hand with a grip that kills it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
127:Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
128:The tyrant claims freedom to kill freedom, and yet keep it for himself. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
129:You are invited to the festival of this world and your life is blessed. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
130:If it is necessary to die in order to live like men, what harm in dying? ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
131:Never be afraid of the moments--thus sings the voice of the everlasting. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
132:The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
133:While God waits for his temple to be built of love,
   Men bring stones. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
134:I leave no trace of wings in the air, but I am glad I have had my flight. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
135:See this morning for the first time as a new-born child that has no name ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
136:Someone spilled the ink on the canvas. Now boasts: "I painted the night". ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
137:The flower which is single need not envy the thorns that are numerous.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
138:To be outspoken is easy when you do not wait to speak the complete truth. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
139:"Trees are the #earth's endless effort to speak to the listening heaven." ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
140:Beauty is truth's smile when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
141:Don't limit a child to your own learning, for he was born in another time. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
142:Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
143:Let my love like sunlight surround you and yet give you illumined freedom. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
144:Who are you, a hundred years from today, reading my poetry with curiosity? ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
145:Days are coloured bubbles that float upon the surface of fathomless nights. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
146:Don't limit a child to your own learning, for she was born in another time. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
147:Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
148:The heart wants to go on; that is its dharma. For unless it moves, it dies. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
149:The past is always with us, for nothing that once was time can ever depart. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
150:The world has kissed my Soul with its pain, asking for its return in Songs. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
151:When we rejoice in our fullness, then we can part with our fruits with joy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
152:You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, [T5],
153:A dewdrop is a perfect integrity that has no filial memory of its parentage. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
154:Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore, [T5],
155:Plunge into the deep without fear, with the gladness of April in your heart. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
156:The artist is the lover of nature; therefore he is her slave and her master. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
157:The newer people of this modern age are more eager to amass than to realize. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
158:The roots below the earth claim no rewards for making the branches fruitful. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
159:To be constantly changing one's plans isn't decision at all-it's indecision. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
160:To be outspoken is easy when you do not wait to speak the complete truth.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
161:Beauty is truth's smile when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
162:Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
163:Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
164:He who wants to do good knocks at the gate: he who loves finds the door open. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
165:I touch God in my songas the hill touched the far-away seawith its waterfall. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
166:Let not the hours pass by in the dark. Kindle the lamp of love with thy life. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
167:A lamp can only light another lamp when it continues to burn in its own flame. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
168:God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man's hands. ~ Rabindranath Tagore (Stray Birds),
169:Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water, sings the pebbles into perfection. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
170:Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
171:What is Art? It is the response of man's creative soul to the call of the Real. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
172:Bravery ceases to be bravery at a certain point, and becomes mere foolhardiness. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
173:The biggest changes in a women's nature are brought by love; in man, by ambition ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
174:A mind all logic is like a knife all blade. It makes the hand bleed that uses it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
175:Let us not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless when facing them. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
176:Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high Where knowledge is free. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
177:Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music, my master! ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
178:Everything comes to us that belongs to us if we create the capacity to receive it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
179:Let the dead have the immortality of fame, but the living the immortality of love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
180:The first flower that blossomed on this earth was an invitation to an unborn song. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
181:Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
182:Let your life lightly dance on the edges of
Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
183:that which is eternal within the moment only becomes shallow if spread out in time. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
184:I never give answers. I lead on from one question to another. That is my leadership. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
185:The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
186:I never give answers. I lead on from one question to another. That is my leadership. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
187:Love is when the soul starts to sing and the flowers of your life bloom on their own. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
188:The real frienship is like fluorescence, it shines better when everything has darken. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
189:‎This I know... That often when I sang, and drummed, and danced, I found my eternity. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
190:To the guests that must go, bid God's speed and brush away all traces of their steps. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
191:Faith is a bird that can see the light when it is dawn and starts singing in the dark. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
192:Life finds its wealth by the claims of the world, and its worth by the claims of love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
193:The singer alone does not make a song, there has to be someone who hears. -Broken Song ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
194:Your idol is shattered in the dust to prove that God's dust is greater than your idol. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
195:Love is an endless mystery, because there is no reasonable cause that could explain it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
196:Reach high, for stars lie hidden in you. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
197:Relationship is the fundamental truth of this world of appearance. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
198:The birth and death of leaves is part of that greater cycle that moves among the stars. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
199:The child ever dwells in the mystery of ageless time,unobscured by the dust of history. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
200:Reach high, for stars lie hidden in you. Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
201:The flower fades and dies; but he who wears the flower has not to mourn for it for ever. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
202:The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
203:The truth comes as conqueror only because we have lost the art of receiving it as guest. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
204:Those who have everything but thee, my God, laugh at those who have nothing but thyself. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
205:You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this I had been waiting long. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
206:Everything has sprung from immortal life and is vibrating with life, for life is immense! ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
207:Love's over brimming mystery joins death and life. It has filled my cup of pain with joy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
208:Unless you have found God in your own soul, the whole world will seem meaningless to you. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
209:Once we dreamt that we were strangers. We wake up to find that we were dear to each other. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
210:When I go from hence, let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
211:Work, especially good work, becomes easy only when desire has learnt to discipline itself. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
212:Love remains a secret even when spoken, for only a true lover truly knows that he is loved. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
213:Oh, grant me my prayer, that I may never lose the touch of the one in the play of the many. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
214:Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
215:Come oh come ye tea-thirsty restless ones -- the kettle boils, bubbles and sings, musically. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
216:No civilized society can thrive upon victims, whose humanity has been permanently mutilated. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
217:Memory, the priestess, kills the present and offers its heart to the shrine of the dead past. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
218:We manage to swallow flesh, only because we do not think of the cruel and sinful thing we do. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
219:for we women are not only the deities of the household fire, but the flame of the soul itself. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
220:Let me light my lamp", says the star, "And never debate if it will help to remove the darkness ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
221:Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house—do not pass by like a dream. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
222:The main object of teaching is not to give explanations, but to knock at the doors of the mind. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
223:Death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
224:I will sit in the pupil of your eyes and that will carry your sight into the heart of the things ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
225:Spurious fame spreads from tongue to tongue like the fog of the early dawn before the sun rises. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
226:If you want to know India, study Vivekananda. In him everything is positive and nothing negative. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
227:The problem is not how to wipe out all differences, but how to unite with all differences intact. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
228:Whatever we treasure for ourselves separates us from others; our possessions are our limitations. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
229:When our universe is in harmony with man, the eternal, we know it as truth, we feel it as beauty. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
230:A butterfly flitting from flower to flower ever remains mine, I lose the one that is netted by me. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
231:By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower. —Rabindranath Tagore, “Stray Birds ~ Scott Westerfeld,
232:Music fills the infinite between two souls. This has been muffled by the mist of our daily habits. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
233:My eyes have seen much, but they are not weary. My ears have heard much, but they thirst for more. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
234:Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt at being told that it is a fragment awaiting perfection. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
235:For every child that is born, it brings with it the hope that God is not yet disappointed with man. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
236:God, the Great Giver, can open the whole universe to our gaze in the narrow space of a single land. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
237:Art is for evoking in our mind the deep sense of reality in its richest aspect. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
238:These paper boats of mine are meant to dance on the ripples of hours, and not reach any destination. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
239:And joy is everywhere; it is in the earth's green covering of grass; in the blue serenity of the sky. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
240:The Taj Mahal rises above the banks of the river like a solitary tear suspended on the cheek of time. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
241:Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep? ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
242:Death belongs to life as birth does The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
243:Gray hairs are signs of wisdom if you hold your tongue, speak and they are but hairs, as in the young. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
244:In the drowsy dark cave of the mind dreams build their nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
245:It is the same life that emerges in joy through the dust of the earth into numberless waves of flower. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
246:Nirvana is not the blowing out of the candle. It is the extinguishing of the flame because day is come. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
247:The soil in return for her service keeps the tree tied to her, the sky asks nothing and leaves it free. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
248:when you came you cried and everybody smiled with joy; when you go smile and let the world cry for you. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
249:Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and all my desires ripen into fruits of love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
250:Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
251:If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
252:By unrighteousness man prospers, gains what appears desirable, conquer enemies, but perishes a the root. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
253:Jewel-Like the immortaldoes not boast of its length of yearsbut of the scintillating point of the moment. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
254:Death's stamp gives value to the coin of life; making it possible to buy with life what is truly precious. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
255:If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart, thy love for me still waits for my love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
256:"If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars." ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
257:“If you cry because the sun has gone out of your life, your tears will prevent you from seeing the stars.” ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
258:Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the afterglow of sunset at the margin of starry silence. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
259:“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.” ~ Rabindranath Tagore tmblr.co/ZBsKhrYnghFJym…,
260:Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty that can modulate their isolation into a harmony with the whole. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
261:The night kissed the fading day With a whisper: "I am death, your mother, From me you will get new birth." ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
262:Life itself is a strange mixture. We have to take it as it is, try to understand it, and then to better it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
263:The infinite being which unites in one stream of creation my mind and the outer world. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
264:And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it is thy power gives me strength to act. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
265:I have spent many days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
266:With begging and scrambling we find very little, but with being true to ourselves we find a great deal more. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
267:Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
268:I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
269:That which is eternal is realizing itself in history through the obstructions of limits. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
270:From individual body to community, from community to universe, from universe to Infinity. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
271:I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times, in life after life, in age after age forever. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
272:The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
273:Work, especially good work, becomes easy only when desire has learnt to discipline itself. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
274:I have spent many days stringing and unstringing my instrument
while the song I came to sing remains unsung. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
275:That civilization perishes in which the individual thwarts the revelation of the universal. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
276:God, the Great Giver, can open the whole universe to our gaze in the narrow space of a single lane. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, Jivan-smitri,
277:I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
278:My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the dance-music of the tide in the evening. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
279:At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
280:Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
281:I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
282:The danger inherent in all force grows stronger when it is likely to gain success, for then it becomes temptation. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
283:Whether joy or sorrow, pain or pleasure; whatsoever may befall thee, accept it serenely with an unvanquished heart. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
284:Love is the only reality and it is not a mere sentiment. It is the ultimate truth that lies at the heart of creation. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
285:Man in his detachment has realized himself in a wider and deeper relationship with the universe. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
286:When I stand before thee at the day's end, thou shalt see my scars and know that I had my wounds and also my healing. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
287:Creation has been made possible through the continual self-surrender of the unit to the universe. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
288:From the solemn gloom of the temple children run out to sit in the dust, God watches them play and forgets the priest. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
289:Asks the Possible of the Impossible, "Where is your dwelling-place?" "In the dreams of the Impotent," comes the answer. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
290:Man is immortal; therefore he must die endlessly. For life is a creative idea; it can only find itself in changing forms ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
291:This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
292:YOU are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf, I am the smaller one on its upper side,' said the dewdrop to the lake. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
293:The highest education is that which does not merely give us information but makes our life in harmony with all existence. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
294:Languages are jealous sovereigns, and passports are rarely allowed for travellers to cross their strictly guarded borders. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
295:We sit inert, like dead specimens of some museum, while lessons are pelted at us from on high, like hailstones on flowers. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
296:I am ashamed of my emptiness," said the Word to the Work. "I know how poor I am when I see you," said the Work to the Word. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
297:Now it is time to sit quiet, face to face with thee, and to sing dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
298:To the birds you gave songs, the birds gave you songs in return. You gave me only a voice, yet asked for more, thus I sing. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
299:Clouds come floating into my life from other days no longer to shed rain or usher storm but to give colour to my sunset sky. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
300:Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky. ~ Rabindranath Tagore#Tagore #poetry,
301:I felt a larger meaning of my own self when the barrier vanished between me and what was beyond myself. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
302:The human soul is on its journey from the law to love, from discipline to liberation, from the moral plane to the spiritual. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
303:In the world's audience hall, the simple blade of grass sits on the same carpet with the sunbeams, and the stars of midnight. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
304:If you allow your mind to carp at all and sundry, it will turn against itself: the majority of our sorrows are self-inflicted. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
305:In the mountain, stillness surges up to explore its own height In the lake, movement stands still to contemplate its own depth. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
306:Other animals ran only when they had a reason, but the horse would run for no reason whatever, as if to run out of his own skin ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
307:Rabindranath Tagore: I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy. ~ Wayne W Dyer,
308:Please is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your eyes. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
309:The one who plants trees, knowing that he will never sit in their shade, has at least started to understand the meaning of life. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
310:Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave. The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
311:The potentiality of perfection outweighs actual contradictions... Existence in itself is here to prove that it cannot be an evil. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
312:When I think of ages past That have floated down the stream Of life and love and death, I feel how free it makes us To pass away. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
313:Grant me that I may not be a coward, feeling your mercy in my success alone; but let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
314:That which oppresses me, is it my soul trying to come out in the open, or the soul of the world knocking at my heart for entrance? ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
315:Bare your forehead, waiting for the first blessing of light, and sing with the bird of the morning in glad faith. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, Fruit Gathering,
316:Do not say, 'It is morning,' and dismiss it with a name of yesterday. See it for the first time as a newborn child that has no name. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
317:Jesus, Buddha, William Blake, Emily Dickinson, Walt Whitman, Mahatma Gandhi, Rabindranath Tagore, Paramahansa Yogananda, and Mother Teresa. ~ Wayne W Dyer,
318:Overstraining is the enemy of accomplishment. Calm strength that arises from a deep and inexhaustible source is what brings success. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
319:This world that we perceive through our senses and mind and life’s experience is profoundly one with ourselves. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
320:I slept and dreamt that life was joy. I awoke and saw that life was service. I acted and behold, service was joy. —RABINDRANATH TAGORE ~ Arianna Huffington,
321:Pray today that your senses, your mind, your songs,and your life will salute God with all humility andgentleness. ~ Rabindranath Tagore#tagore #prayer #God,
322:The infinite being has assumed unto himself the mystery of finitude. And in him who is love the finite and the infinite are made one. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
323:To be absolutely simple in one’s hospitality to one’s enemy, or to a stranger, requires generations of training. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
324:Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
325:Some day I shall sing to thee in the sunrise of some other world, I have seen thee before in the light of the earth, in the love of man. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
326:The question and the cry 'Oh, where?' melt into tears of a thousand streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance 'I am!' ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
327:Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
328:Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action-Into that heaven of freedom, my father, let my country awake. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
329:My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
330:O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
331:[The poets' role is that of] capturing on their instruments the secret stir of life in the air and giving it voice in the music of prophecy ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
332:The progress of our soul is like a perfect poem. It has an infinite idea which, once realised, makes all movements full of meaning and joy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
333:The greatest distance in this World is not that between living and death, it is when I am just before you, and you don't know that I Love You. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
334:We are hidden in ourselves, like a truth hidden in isolated facts. When we know that this One in us is One in all, then our truth is revealed. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
335:Discipline divorced from wisdom is not true discipline, but merely the meaningless following of custom, which is only a disguise for stupidity. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
336:The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark. The small truth has words which are clear; the great truth has great silence. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
337:Those who in this world have the courage to try and solve in their own lives new problems of life, are the ones who raise society to greatness. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
338:The earth paints a portrait of the sun at dawn with sunflowers in bloom. Unhappy with the portrait, she erases it and paints it again and again. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
339:If the tail does not have the decency to know where to stop, the drag of this dependency becomes fatal to the body’s empire. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
340:“The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark. The small truth has words which are clear; the great truth has great silence.” ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
341:Let my doing nothing when I have nothing to do, become untroubled in its depth of peace, like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
342:Men can only think. Women have a way of understanding without thinking. Woman was created out of God's own fancy. Man, He had to hammer into shape. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
343:Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
344:The small wisdom is like water in a glass: clear, transparent, pure. The great wisdom is like the water in the sea: dark, mysterious, impenetrable. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
345:If I can't make it through one door, I'll go through another door- or i'll make a door. Something terrific will come no matter how dark the present. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
346:Children with the freshness of their senses come directly to the intimacy of this world. This is the first great gift they have. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
347:If God had so wished, he would have made all Indians speak with one language ... the unity of India has been and shall always be a unity in diversity. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
348:The spirit of rejection finds its support in the consciousness of separateness; the spirit of acceptance finds its base in the consciousness of unity. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
349:Man by nature is an artist; he never receives passively and accurately in his mind a physical representation of things around him. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
350:Man's freedom is never in being saved from troubles, but it is the freedom to take trouble for his own good, to make the trouble an element in his joy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
351:The billions of revolving electric specks that have the appearance of “you” or “me” should be condemned as bearers of false evidence. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
352:The most important lesson that man can learn from life, is not that there is pain in this world, but that it is possible for him to transmute it into joy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
353:When Man’s preoccupation with the means of livelihood became less insistent he had the leisure to come to the mystery of his own self. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
354:When old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
355:The small wisdom is like water in a glass:
clear, transparent, pure.
The great wisdom is like the water in the sea:
dark, mysterious, impenetrable. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
356:The spirit of Life began her chapter by introducing a simple living cell against the tremendously powerful challenge of the vast Inert. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
357:Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield,But to my own strength. Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved,But for the patience to win my freedom. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
358:Essentially qualitative, like life itself, the Mind does not occupy space. For that very reason it has no bounds in its mastery of space. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
359:Saltwater heals, healing referring to its various forms; tears, cleanses and heals the soul; sweat, cleanses through labor; the ocean, heals in all its forms. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
360:The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
361:The great Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore wrote, “I slept and dreamt that life was joy. / I awoke and saw that life was service. / I acted and behold, service was joy. ~ Anne Lamott,
362:Art awakens a sense of real by establishing an intimate relationship between our inner being and the universe at large, bringing us a consciousness of deep joy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
363:Let the splendor of diamond, pearl and ruby vanish? Only let this one teardrop, this Taj Mahal, glisten spotlessly bright on the cheek of time, forever and ever. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
364:Only those of tranquil minds, and none else, can attain abiding joy, by realizing within their souls the Being who manifests one essence in a multiplicity of forms. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
365:Power said to the world, "You are mine." The world kept it prisoner on her throne. Love said to the world, "I am thine." The world gave it the freedom of her house. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
366:True enjoyment can never be had through the satisfaction of greed, but only through the surrender of our individual self to the Universal Self. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
367:Only in silence I find myself. Life in the city is so hectic that you lose the right perspective. It's important to know that our biggest resources are in our heart. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
368:I am willing to serve my country, but my worship I reserve for Right which is far greater than my country. To worship my country as a god is to bring a curse upon it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
369:And, indeed, what little of beauty and peace is to be found in the societies of men is owing to the daily performance of small duties, not to big doings and fine talk. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
370:The young student sits with his head bent over his books, and his mind straying in youth's dreamland; where prose is prowling on the desk and poetry hiding in the heart. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
371:Goodness represents the detachment of our spirit from the exclusiveness of our egoism; in goodness we identify ourselves with the universal humanity. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
372:I'm lost in the middle of my birthday. I want my friends, their touch, with the earth's last love. I will take life's final offering, I will take the last human blessing. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
373:Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death be like autumn leaves. Rabindranath Tagore What a simple thing death is, just as simple as the falling of an autumn leaf. ~ Vincent Van Gogh,
374:God is neither manifest nor hidden; He is neither revealed nor unrevealed; there are no words to tell that which He is. He is without form, without quality, without decay. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
375:Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers,
but to be fearless in facing them.

Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but
for the heart to conquer it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
376:Those who think to reach God by running away from the world, when and where do they expect to meet him? We are reaching him here in this very spot, now at this very moment. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
377:It means that God's Creation has not its source in any necessity; it comes from his fullness of joy; it is his love that creates, therefore in Creation is his own revealment. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
378:O Woman, you are not merely the handiwork of God, but also of men; these are ever endowing you with beauty from their own hearts ... You are one-half woman and one-half dream. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
379:If religion, instead of being the manifestation of a spiritual ideal, gives prominence to scriptures and external rites, then does it disturb the peace more than anything else. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
380:May not the explanation be this, that ideal truth does not depend upon the individual mind of man, but on the universal mind which comprehends the individual? ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
381:We have come to look upon life as a conflict with death—the intruding enemy, not the natural ending—in impotent quarrel with which we spend every stage of it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
382:I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times . . . In life after life, in age after age forever. – Rabindranath Tagore, ‘Unending Love’, translated by William Radice ~ Zia Haider Rahman,
383:The thing which seems so glorious when viewed from the heights of the country's cause looks so muddy when seen from the bottom. One begins by getting angry and then feels disgusted. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
384:I ask my destiny - what power is this That cruelly drives me onward without rest? My destiny says, "Look round!" I turn back and see It is I myself that is ever pushing me from behind. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
385:I believe in a spiritual world - not as anything separate from this world - but as its innermost truth. With the breath we draw we must always feel this truth, that we are living in God. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
386:The pious sectarian is proud because he is confident of his right of possession in God. The man of devotion is meek because he is conscious of God's right of love over his life and soul. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
387:This is the ultimate end of man, to find the One which is in him; which is his truth, which is his soul; the key with which he opens the gate of the spiritual life, the heavenly kingdom. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
388:Why are you lying in the gloom of the temple? Raise your eyes. Look! God is not confined to four walls. He has gone where the farmers are tilling and toiling all year round". (Rabindranath Tagore) ~ Anonymous,
389:This principle of opposites is at the very root of Creation, which is divided between the rule of the King and the Queen; Night and Day; the One and the Varied; the Eternal and the Evolving. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
390:And when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders. —Closed Path
Rabindranath Tagore ~ Deanna Raybourn,
391:The fish in the water is silent, the animals on the earth is noisy, the bird in the air is singing. But man has in him the silence of the sea, the noise of the earth and the music of the air. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
392:Most people believe the mind to be a mirror, more or less accurately reflecting the world outside them, not realizing on the contrary that the mind is itself the principal element of creation. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
393:When he has the power to see things detached from self-interest and from the insistent claims of the lust of the senses, then alone can he have the true vision of the beauty that is everywhere. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
394:For many years, at great cost, I traveled through many countries, saw the high mountains, the oceans. The only things I did not see were the sparkling dewdrops in the grass just outside my door. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
395:Pessimism is a form of mental dipsomania; it disdains healthy nourishment, indulges in the strong drink of denunciation, and creates an artificial dejection which thirsts for a stronger draught. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
396:The soul has to come out of this self-contained stage into the fuller life, which has varied relations with kinsman and neighbour, together with whom it forms a larger body. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
397:Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high Where knowledge is free Where the world has not been broken up into fragments . . . . My Father, let my country awake. —Rabindranath Tagore ~ A P J Abdul Kalam,
398:Whatever we understand and enjoy in human products instantly becomes ours, wherever they might have their origin... Let me feel with unalloyed gladness that all the great glories of man are mine. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
399:Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds (1916); paraphrased variant: Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of humanity.,
400:Patriotism cannot be our final spiritual shelter; my refuge is humanity. I will not buy glass for the price of diamonds, and I will never allow patriotism to triumph over humanity as long as I live. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
401:Power said to the world, “You are mine.” The world kept it prisoner on her throne. Love said to the world, “I am thine.” The world gave it the freedom of her house. —Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds22 ~ Philip G Zimbardo,
402:Patriotism cannot be our final spiritual shelter; my refuge is humanity. I will not buy glass for the price of diamonds, and I will never allow patriotism to triumph over humanity as long as I live. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
403:Our imagination makes us intensely conscious of a life we must live which transcends the individual life and contradicts the biological meaning of the instinct of self-preservation. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
404:The more one lives alone on the river or in the open country, the clearer it becomes that nothing is more beautiful or great than to perform the ordinary duties of one's daily life simply and naturally. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
405:I have read in books that we are called 'caged birds'. I cannot speak for others, but I had so much in this cage of mine that there was not room for it in the universe- at least that is what I then felt. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
406:On each race is laid the duty to keep alight its own lamp of mind as its part in the illumination of the world. To break the lamp of any people into deprive it of its rightful place in the world festival. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
407:The tragedy of human life consists in our vain attempts to stretch the limits of things which can never become unlimited, to reach the infinite by absurdly adding to the rungs of the ladder of the finite. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
408:Whenever our life is stirred by truth, it expresses energy and comes to be filled, as it were, with a creative ardor. This consciousness of the creative urge is evidence of the force of truth on our mind. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
409:Man's abiding happiness is not in getting anything but in giving himself up to what is greater than himself, to ideas which are larger than his individual life, the idea of his country, of humanity, of God. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
410:We do not want nowadays temples of worship and outward rites and ceremonies. What we really want is an Asram. We want a place where the beauty of nature and the noblest pursuits of man are in a sweet harmony. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
411:Si sólo te concentras en tus errores, no verás tus logros. Si sólo ves lo que te falta, no disfrutarás del momento, del aquí y el ahora. Rabindranath Tagore decía: “Si de noche lloras por el Sol, no verás las estrellas”. ~ Walter Riso,
412:Perhaps that dawn will come from this horizon, from the East where the sun rises. A day will come when unvanquished Man will retrace his path of conquest, despite all barriers, to win back his lost human heritage. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
413:He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches. He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes and joyfully plays on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
414:Civilized man has come very far away from the orbit of his normal life. He has gradually formed and intensified some habits that are like those of the bees for adapting himself to his hive-world. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
415:From the grasses in the field to the stars in the sky, each one is doing just that; and there is such profound peace and surpassing beauty in nature because none of these tries forcibly to transgress its limitations. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
416:Great calm, generous detachment, selfless love, disinterested effort: these are what make for success in life. If you can find peace in yourself and can spread comfort around you, you will be happier than an empress. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
417:The touch of an infinite mystery passes over the trivial and the familiar, making it break out into ineffable music... The trees, the stars, and the blue hills ache with a meaning which can never be uttered in words. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
418:Today I feel that I shall win through. I have come to the gateway of the simple; I am now content to see things as they are. I have gained freedom myself; I shall allow freedom to others. In my work will be my salvation. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
419:True deliverance of man is the deliverance from Avidya i.e. ignorance. It is not in destroying anything that is positive and real, for that cannot be possible, but that which is negative, which obstructs our vision of truth. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
420:Music is the purest form of art... therefore true poets...seek to express the universe in terms of music. The singer has everything within him. The notes come out from his very life. They are not materials gathered from outside. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
421:Your love keeps me afloat but will remain the anchor in my soul... I don't really have words to describe how romantic I find that. Your love is what keeps me going, but it's also the anchor that keeps me close to you. I love it! ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
422:Life is perpetually creative because it contains in itself that surplus which ever overflows the boundaries of the immediate time and space, restlessly pursuing its adventure of expression in the varied forms of self-realization. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
423:Everything comes to us that belongs to us if we create the capacity to receive it. Every difficulty slurred over will be a ghost to disturb your repose later on. Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for the tree. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
424:It is the magic of mathematics, the rhythm which is in the heart of all creation, which moves in the atom and, in its different measures, fashions gold and lead, the rose and the thorn, the sun and the planets. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
425:You have made me known to friends whom I knew not. You have given me seats in homes not my own. You have brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger... When one knows You, then there is no alien, and no door is shut. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
426:The meaning of our self is not to be found in its separateness from God and others, but in the ceaseless realization of yoga, of union; not on the side of the canvas where it is blank, but on the side where the picture is being painted. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
427:Some overflowing influence led us over the strict boundaries of living, and offered to us an open space where Man’s thoughts and dreams could have their holidays. Holidays are for gods who have their joy in creation. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
428:The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart . . . ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
429:This process of conquest could be described as progress for the kingdom of life. It journeyed on through one success to another by dealing with the laws of Nature through the help of the invention of new instruments. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
430:Through an intensive process of concentration and quietude our consciousness does reach that infinity where knowledge ceases to be knowledge, subject and object become one—a state of existence that cannot be defined. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
431:Days come and ages pass, and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name, in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow. Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
432:Wisdom does not attain completeness except through the living of life; and discipline divorced from wisdom is not true discipline, but merely the meaningless following of custom, which is only a disguise for stupidity. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
433:In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of my house. I find her not. My house is small and what once has gone from it can never be regained. But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and seeking her I have come to thy door. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
434:The great advantage in the latest method of human evolution lies in the fact that Man’s additional new limbs, like bows and arrows, have become detached. They never tie his arms to any exclusive advantage of efficiency. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
435:My dearest life, I know you are not mine forever; but do love me even if it’s for this moment. After that I shall vanish into the forest where you cast me, I won’t ask anyone for anything again. Give me something that can last me till I die. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
436:If life's journey be endless where is its goal? The answer is, it is everywhere. We are in a palace which has no end, but which we have reached. By exploring it and extending our relationship with it we are ever making it more and more our own. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
437:When life came out it did not bring with it any new materials into existence. Its elements are the same which are the materials for the rocks and minerals. Only it evolved a value in them which cannot be measured and analysed. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
438:A man must live his full term of life and work without greed, and thus realize himself in the Being who is in all beings. This means that he must reveal in his own personality the Supreme Person by his disinterested activities. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
439:Religion is not a fractional thing that can be doled out in fixed weekly or daily measures as one among various subjects in the school syllabus. It is the truth of our complete being, the consciousness of our personal relationship with the infinite. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
440:The child learns so easily because he has a natural gift, but adults, because they are tyrants, ignore natural gifts and say that children must learn through the same process that they learned by. We insist upon forced mental feeding and our lessons ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
441:The process of evolution, which after ages has reached man, must be realized in its unity with him, though in him it assumes a new value and proceeds to a different path. It is a continuous process that finds its meaning in Man. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
442:According to the true Indian view, our consciousness of the world, merely as the sum total of things that exist, and as governed by laws, is imperfect. But it is perfect when our consciousness realizes all things as spiritually one with it, and there ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
443:Beauty is truth's smile
when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror. ~
Beauty is in the ideal of perfect harmony
which is in the universal being;
truth the perfect comprehension of the universal mind.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Poems On Beauty
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444:The higher nature in man always seeks for something which transcends itself and yet is its deepest truth; which claims all its sacrifice, yet makes this sacrifice its own recompense. This is man's dharma, man's religion, and man's self is the vessel. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
445:There is a moral law in this world which has its application both to individuals and organized bodies of men. You cannot go on violating these laws in the name of your nation, yet enjoy their advantage as individuals. We may forget truth for our conv ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
446:When the heat and motion of blind impulses and passions distract it on all sides, we can neither give nor receive anything truly. But when we find our centre in our soul by the power of self-restraint, by the force that harmonizes all warring element ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
447:Poems On Time The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth. Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
448:Religion, like poetry, is not a mere idea, it is expression. The self-expression of God is in the endless variety of creation; and our attitude toward the Infinite Being must also in its expression have a variety of individuality ceaseless and unendi. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
449:The birds looked upon me as nothing but a man, quite a trifling creature without wings-and they would have nothing to do with me. Were it not so I would build a small cabin for myself among their crowd of nests and pass my days counting the sea waves. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
450:The greed of gain has no time or limit to its capaciousness. Its one object is to produce and consume. It has pity neither for beautiful nature nor for living human beings. It is ruthlessly ready without a moment's hesitation to crush beauty and life. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
451:We try to realize the essential unity of the world with the conscious soul of man; we learn to perceive the unity held together by the one Eternal Spirit, whose power creates the earth, the sky, and the stars, and at the same time irradiates our mind. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
452:When we accept any discipline for ourselves, we try to avoid everything except that which is necessary for our purpose; it is this purposefulness, which belongs to the adult mind, that we force upon school children. We say, "Never keep your mind aler. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
453:Poems On Love Love adorns itself; it seeks to prove inward joy by outward beauty. Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom. Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it. Love's gift cannot be given, it waits to be accepted. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
454:Rabindranath Tagore put it gently to a Western audience in New York in 1930: ‘A great portion of the world suffers from your civilisation.’ Mahatma Gandhi was blunter: asked what he thought of Western civilization, he replied, ‘It would be a good idea’. ‘The ~ Shashi Tharoor,
455:The meaning of this is, that whomsoever we love, in him we find our own soul in the highest sense. The final truth of our existence lies in this. God, the Supreme Soul, is in me, as well as in my son, and my joy in my son is the realisation of this truth. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
456:For the current of our spiritual life creeds, rituals and channels that may thwart or help, according to their fixity or openness. When a symbol or spiritual idea becomes rigidly elaborate in its construction, it supplants the idea which it should support. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
457:I am restless. I am athirst for faraway things. My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance. O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute! I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
458:Faith is the bird that feels the light and sings when the dawn is still dark. In effect, the people who change our lives the most begin to sing to us while we are still in darkness. If we listen to their song, we will see the dawning of a new part of ourselves. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
459:I have on my table a violin string. It is free to move in any direction I like. If I twist one end, it responds; it is free. But it is not free to sing. So I take it and fix it into my violin. I bind it and when it is bound, it is free for the first time to sing. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
460:Whatever character our theology may ascribe to him, in reality God is the infinite ideal of Man, towards whom men move in their collective growth, with whom they seek their union of love as individuals, in whom they find their ideal of father, friend and beloved. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
461:It sometimes strikes me how immensely fortunate I am that each day should take its place in my life, either reddened with the rising and setting sun, or refreshingly cool with deep, dark clouds, or blooming like a white flower in the moonlight. What untold wealth! ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
462:The water vessel, taken as a vessel only, raises the question, "Why does it exist at all?" Through its fitness of construction, it offers the apology for its existence. But where it is a work of beauty it has no question to answer; it has nothing to do, but to be. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
463:Those who draw their sustenance from science are blessed. It is for me to only derive an occasional pleasure. This is nothing worthy of conceit, but I am indeed touched by the joys. This book is an ode to such joys, a digest of my collections from various sources. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
464:Great suffering brings with it the power of great endurance. When sorrow is deepest all the forces of patience and courage are banded together to do their duty. So while we are cowards before petty troubles, great sorrows make us brave by rousing our truer manhood. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
465:O MY heart! the Supreme Spirit, the great Master, is near you: wake, oh wake!
Run to the feet of your Beloved: for
your Lord stands near to your head.
You have slept for unnumbered ages; this morning will you not wake?
Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
~ Kabir, Poem 13
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466:Our self (Soul), as a form of God's joy, is deathless. For his joy is amritham, eternal bliss. We know that the life of a Soul, which is finite in its expression and infinite in its principle, must go through the portals of death in its journey to realize the infinite. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
467:The cure for all the illness of life is stored in the inner depth of life itself, the access to which becomes possible when we are alone. This solitude is a world in itself, full of wonders and resources unthought of. It is absurdly near; yet so unapproachably distant. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
468:Where roads are made I lose my way.In the wide water, in the blue sky there is no line of a track.The pathway is hidden by the birds' wings, by the star-fires, by the flowers of the wayfaring seasons.And I ask my heart if its blood carries the wisdom of the unseen way. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
469:Buddha’s teaching speaks of Nirvana as the highest end. To understand its real character we have to know the path of its attainment, which is not merely through the negation of evil thoughts and deeds but through the elimination of all limits to love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
470:We are not trained to recognize the inevitable as natural, and so cannot give up gracefully that which has to go, but needs must wait till it is snatched from us. The truth comes as conqueror only because we have lost the art of receiving it as guest. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
471:Man desired in his completeness to be the one great representative of multiform life, not through wearisome subjection to the haphazard gropings of natural selection, but by the purposeful selection of opportunities with the help of his reasoning mind. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
472:In love at one of its poles you find the personal, and at the other the impersonal. At one you have the positive assertion — Here I am; at the other the equally strong denial — I am not. Without this ego what is love? And again, with only this ego how can love be possible? ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
473:The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
474:The smile that flickers on a baby’s lips when he sleeps- does anyone know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumor that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
475:False hope is clung to with all one's might and main, till a day comes when it has sucked the heart dry and it forcibly breaks through its bonds and departs. After that comes the misery of awakening, and then once again the longing to get back into the maze of the same mistakes. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
476:I have observed, on board a steamer, how men and women easily give way to their instinct for flirtation, because water has the power of washing away our sense of responsibility, and those who on land resemble the oak in their firmness behave like floating seaweed when on the sea. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
477:The meaning of the living words that come out of the experiences of great hearts can never be exhausted by any one system of logical interpretation. They have to be endlessly explained by the commentaries of individual lives, and they gain an added mystery in each new revelation. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
478:Man appeared and turned the course of this evolution from an indefinite march of physical aggrandisement to a freedom of a more subtle perfection. This has made possible his progress to become unlimited, and has enabled him to realize the boundless in his power. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
479:The truth of relationship, the truth of a harmony in the universe, the fundamental principle of creation. It is not merely the number of protons and electrons which represents the truth of an element; it is the mystery of their relationship which cannot be analysed. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
480:Timid orthodoxy, its irrational repressions and its accumulation of dead centuries, dwarfs man through its idolatry of the past. Seated rigid in the centre of stagnation, it firmly ties the human spirit to the revolving wheels of habit till faintness overwhelms her. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
481:Life's fulfillment finds constant obstacles in its path; but those are necessary for the sake of its advance. The stream is saved from the sluggishness of its current by the perpetual opposition of the soil through which it must cut its way. The spirit of fight belongs to the genius of life. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
482:Man has taken centuries to discuss the question of his own true nature and has not yet come to a conclusion. He has been building up elaborate religions to convince himself, against his natural inclinations, of the paradox that he is not what he is but something greater. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
483:My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes. They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the stars. My songs are lost in their depths. Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity. Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
484:Yet what each one does is by no means of little moment. The grass has to put forth all its energy to draw sustenance from the uttermost tips of its rootlets simply to grow where it is as grass; it does not vainly strive to become a banyan tree; and so the earth gains a lovely carpet of green. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
485:Melody and harmony are like lines and colors in pictures. A simple linear picture may be completely beautiful; the introduction of color may make it vague and insignificant. Yet color may, by combination with lines, create great pictures, so long as it does not smother and destroy their value. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
486:I thought that my invincible power would hold the world captive, leaving me in a freedom undisturbed. Thus night and day I worked at the chain with huge fires and cruel hard strokes. When at last the work was done and the links were complete and unbreakable, I found that it held me in its grip. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
487:Of his views on education, he says, ‘My natural aversion to academic education was further strengthened when I came across an essay by Rabindranath Tagore on education. It confirmed my own precocious conclusions on the subject. I liked to be free to read what I please and not be examined at all.’ After ~ R K Narayan,
488:One who has never known the turbulence of life, in whom the petals of the mysterious flower within have never opened; such a one may seem happy, may seem a saint, his single track mind may impress the multitude with its power - but he is ill equipped for life's true adventure into the infinite. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
489:Those who are near me do not know that you are nearer to me than they are Those who speak to me do not know that my heart is full with your unspoken words Those who crowd in my path do not know that I am walking alone with you Those who love me do not know that their love brings you to my heart ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
490:Children are living beings - more living than grown-up people who have built shells of habit around themselves. Therefore it is absolutely necessary for their mental health and development that they should not have mere schools for their lessons, but a world whose guiding spirit is personal love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
491:He only has freedom who ideally loves freedom himself and is glad to extend it to others. He who cares to have slaves must chain himself to them. He who builds walls to create exclusion for others builds walls across his own freedom. He who distrusts freedom in others loses his moral right to it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
492:... let us unite, not in spite of our differences, but through them. For differences can never be wiped away, and life would be so much the poorer without them. Let all human races keep their own personalities, and yet come together, not in a uniformity that is dead, but in a unity that is living. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
493:We must uphold an ideal of life in which everything else—the display of individual power, the might of nations—must be counted as subordinate and the soul of man must triumph and liberate itself from the bond of personality which keeps it in an ever-revolving circle of limitation. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
494:Music is the purest form of art, and therefore the most direct expression of beauty, with a form and spirit which is one and simple, and least encumbered with anything extraneous. We seem to feel that the manifestation of the infinite in the finite forms of creation is music itself, silent and visible. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
495:Those who are near me do not know that you are nearer to me than they are
Those who speak to me do not know that my heart is full with your unspoken words
Those who crowd in my path do not know that I am walking alone with you
Those who love me do not know that their love brings you to my heart ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
496:Let us, the dreamers of the East and the West, keep our faith firm in the Life that creates and not in the Machine that constructs—in the power that hides its force and blossoms in beauty, and not in the power that bares its arms and chuckles at its capacity to make itself obnoxious. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
497:I've travelled all around the world to see the rivers and the mountains, and I've spent a lot of money. I have gone to great lengths, I have seen everything, but I forgot to see just outside my house a dewdrop on a little blade of grass, a dewdrop which reflects in its convexity the whole universe around you. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
498:The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.
~
Time is a wealth of change,
but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.


~

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time
like dew on the tip of a leaf.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Poems On Time
,
499:Then finish the last song and let us
leave.
  Forget this night when the night is
no more.
  Whom do I try to clasp in my
arms? Dreams can never be made captive.
  My eager hands press emptiness to
my heart and it bruises my breast.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LI - Then Finish The Last Song
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500:Poems On Life: Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it. Let the dead have the immortality of fame, but the living the immortality of love. Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty that can modulate their isolation into a harmony with the whole. Life, like a child, laughs, shaking its rattle of death as it runs. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
501:A multitude of cells were bound together into a larger unit, not through aggregation, but through a marvellous quality of complex inter-relationship maintaining a perfect co-ordination of functions. This is the creative principle of unity, the divine mystery of existence, that baffles all analysis. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
502:If anger be the basis of our political activities, the excitement tends to become an end in itself, at the expense of the object to be achieved. Side issues then assume an exaggerated importance, and all gravity of thought and action is lost; such excitement is not an exercise of strength, but a display of weakness.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
503:There is a point where in the mystery of existence contradictions meet; where movement is not all movement and stillness is not all stillness; where the idea and the form, the within and the without, are united; where infinite becomes finite, yet not losing its infinity. If this meeting is dissolved, then things become unreal. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
504:Reality is human; it is what we are conscious of, by which we are affected, that which we express. When we are intensely aware of it, we are aware of ourselves and it gives us delight. We live in it, we always widen its limits. Our arts and literature represent this creative activity which is fundamental in man. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
505:Man, suckled at the wolf’s breasts, sheltered in the brute’s den, brought up in the prowling habit of depredation, suddenly discovers that he is Man, and that his true power lies in yielding up his brute power for the freedom of spirit. The God of humanity has arrived at the gates of the ruined temple of the tribe. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
506:A teacher can never truly teach unless he is still learning himself. A lamp can never light another lamp unless it continues to burn its own flame. The teacher who has come to the end of his subject, who has no living traffic with his knowledge but merely repeats his lesson to his students, can only load their minds, he cannot quicken them. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
507:The sun of the first day
Put the question
To the new manifestation of life-
Who are you?
There was no answer.
Years passed by.

The last sun of the last day
Uttered the question
on the shore of the western sea
In the hush of evening-
Who are you?
No answer came again.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Sun Of The First Day
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508:In the details of our universe there are some differences that may be described as non-human, but not in their essence. The bones are different from the muscles, but they are organically one in the body. Our feeling of joy, our imagination, realizes a profound organic unity with the universe comprehended by the human mind. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
509:If someone smells a flower and says he does not understand, the reply to him is: there is nothing to understand, it is only a scent. If he persists, saying: that I know, but what does it all mean? Then one has either to change the subject, or make it more abstruse by saying that the scent is the shape which the universal joy takes in the flower. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
510:Our scientific world is our world of reasoning. It has its greatness and uses and attractions. We are ready to pay homage due to it. But when it claims to have discovered the real world for us and laughs at the worlds of all simple-minded men, then we must say it is like a general grown intoxicated with his power, usurping the throne of his king ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
511:In the night of weariness
let me give myself up to sleep without struggle,
resting my trust upon thee.

Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy worship.

It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the day
to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Sleep
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512:There is no external means of taking freedom by the throat. It is the inward process of losing ourselves that leads to it. Bondage in all its forms has its stronghold in the inner self and not in the outside world; it is in the dimming of our consciousness, in the narrowing of our perspective, in the wrong valuation of things. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
513:Do not go to the garden of flowers! O friend! go not there; In your body is the garden of flowers. Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the Infinite Beauty. [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Kabir, Do not go to the garden of flowers!
,
514:Plant flowers in others' gardens and your life becomes a bouquet! Submitted by Lisa Letto, Coordinator, Nutrition Resource and Volunteer Centre, College of Pharmacy and Nutrition, University of Saskatchewan, Saskatchewan, Canada I slept and I dreamed that life is all joy, I woke and I saw that life is all service. I served and I saw that service is joy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
515:Life’s fulfilment finds constant contradictions in its path; but those are necessary for the sake of its advance. The stream is saved from the sluggishness of its current by the perpetual opposition of the soil through which it must cut its way. It is this soil which forms its banks. The spirit of fight belongs to the genius of life. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
516:Brahma was excessively sparing with earth, water, and fire.... The reckless expenditure of air and ether in his composition was amazing. And, in consequence, he perpetually struggled to outreach the wind, to outrun space itself. Other animals ran only when they had a reason, but the Horse would run for no reason whatever, as if to run out of his own skin. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
517:Joy is there everywhere; it is superfluous, unnecessary; nay, it very often contradicts the most peremptory behests of necessity. It exists to show that the bonds of law can only be explained by love; they are like body and soul. Joy is the realisation of the truth of oneness, the oneness of our soul with the world and of the world-soul with the supreme lover. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
518:By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in this world. But it is otherwise with thy love which is greater than theirs, and thout keepst me free. Lest I forgot them they never venture to leave me alone. But day passes by after day and thou art not seen. If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart, thy love for me still waits for my love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
519:Let it not be death but completeness. Let love melt into memory and pain into songs. Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest. Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night. Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence. I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
520:I have long been an ardent believer in the science of Homeopathy and I feel happy that it has got now a greater hold in India than even in the land of its origin. It is not merely a collection of a few medicines but a real science with a rational philosophy at its base. We require more scientific interest and inquiry into the matter with special stress upon the Indian environment ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
521:O poor, unthinking human heart! Error will not go away, logic and reason are slow to penetrate.We cling with both arms to false hope, refusing to believe in the weightiest proofs against it, embracing it with all our strength. In the end it escapes, ripping our veins and draining our heart's blood; until, regaining consciousness, we rush to fall into snares of delusion all over again ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
522:Life is given to us,
we earn it by giving it.
~

Let the dead have the immortality of fame,
but the living the immortality of love.
~

Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty
that can modulate their isolation into a
harmony with the whole.
~

Life, like a child, laughs,
shaking its rattle of death as it runs.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Poems On Life
,
523:Joy is everywhere; it is in the earth's green covering of grass: in the blue serenity of the sky: in the reckless exuberance of spring: in the severe abstinence of grey winter: in the living flesh that animates our bodily frame: in the perfect poise of the human figure, noble and upright: in living, in the exercise of all our powers: in the acquisition of knowledge. . . Joy is there everywhere. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
524:The man whose inner vision is bathed in an illumination of his consciousness at once realizes the spiritual unity reigning supreme over all differences. His mind no longer awkwardly stumbles over individual facts of separateness in the human world, accepting them as final. He realizes that peace is in the inner harmony which dwells in truth and not in any outer adjustments. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
525:Our self (Soul) is maya (an illusion) where it is merely individual and finite, where it considers its separateness as absolute; it is satyam (truth) where it recognizes its essence in the universal and infinite, in the Supreme Self, in paramatman (God). This is what Christ means when he says, "Before Abraham was, I am" (i.e. before Abraham was God, who is the same that is in my soul - I am That.) ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
526:O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders!
O beggar, to come beg at thy own door!

Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all,
and never look behind in regret.

Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy-take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Fool
,
527:I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power, that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted, and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity, but I find that thy will knows no end in me, and when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart, and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
528:She took a bold step in throwing open her gates to a dangerously explosive factor which she had cautiously introduced into her council—the element of Mind. I should not say that it was ever absent, but only that at a certain stage some curtain was removed and its play was made evident, even like the dark heat which in its glowing intensity reveals itself in a contradiction of radiancy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
529:Things in which we do not take joy are either a burden upon our minds to be got rid of at any cost; or they are useful, and therefore in temporary and partial relation to us, becoming burdensome when their utility is lost; or they are like wandering vagabonds, loitering for a moment on the outskirts of our recognition, and then passing on. A thing is only completely our own when it is a thing of joy to us. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
530:Free me from the bonds of your
sweetness, my love! Nor more of this
wine of kisses.
  This mist of heavy incense stifles
my heart.
  Open the doors, make room for the
morning light.
  I am lost in you, wrapped in the
folds of your caresses.
  Free me from your spells, and give
me back the manhood to offer you my
freed heart.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XLVIII - Free Me
,
531:He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon.
I am ever busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into
the sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.

I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand
lest a least hole should be left in this name;
and for all the care I take I lose sight of my true being.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Dungeon
,
532:WITHIN this earthen vessel are bowers and groves, and within it is the Creator:
Within this vessel are the seven oceans and the unnumbered stars.
The touchstone and the jewel-appraiser are within;
And within this vessel the Eternal soundeth, and the spring wells up.
Kabr says: "Listen to me, my Friend! My beloved Lord is within."
The Earthern vessel is the body
Translation by Rabindranath Tagore
~ Kabir, Poem 3
,
533:Since the dim nebula of consciousness in Life’s world became intensified into a centre of self in Man, his history began to unfold its rapid chapters; for it is the history of his strenuous answers in various forms to the question rising from this conscious self of his, “What am I?” Man is not happy or contented as the animals are; for his happiness and his peace depend upon the truth of his answer. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
534:Say of him what you please, but I know my child's failings. I do not love him because he is good, but because he is my little child. How should you know how dear he can be when you try to weigh his merits against his faults? When I must punish him he becomes all the more a part of my being. When I cause his tears to come my heart weeps with him. I alone have a right to blame and punish, for he only may chastise who loves. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
535:When she passed by me with quick
steps, the end of her skirt touched
me.
  From the unknown island of a
heart came a sudden warm breath of
spring.
  A flutter of a flitting touch brushed
me and vanished in a moment, like a
torn flower petal blown in the breeze.
  It fell upon my heart like a sigh of
her body and whisper of her heart.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XXII - When She Passed By Me
,
536:Sir Rabindranath Tagore returned his knighthood to the British in protest against ‘the helplessness of our position as British subjects in India’. Tagore’s early ambivalence about the costs and benefits of British rule was replaced after Amritsar by what he termed a ‘graceless disillusionment’ at the ‘misfortune of being governed by a foreign race’. He did not want a ‘badge of honour’ in ‘the incongruous context of humiliation’. ~ Shashi Tharoor,
537:Yes, I know, this is nothing but thy love,
O beloved of my heart-this golden light that dances upon the leaves,
these idle clouds sailing across the sky,
this passing breeze leaving its coolness upon my forehead.

The morning light has flooded my eyes-this is thy message to my heart.
Thy face is bent from above, thy eyes look down on my eyes,
and my heart has touched thy feet.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Passing Breeze
,
538:A message came from my youth of vanished days, saying, 'I wait for you among the quivering of unborn May, where smiles ripen for tears and hours ache with songs unsung.' It says, 'Come to me across the worn-out track of age, through the gates of death. For dreams fade, hopes fail, the fathered fruits of the year decay, but I am the eternal truth, and you shall meet me again and again in your voyage of life from shore to shore. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
539:I came out alone on my way to my tryst.

But who is this that follows me in the silent dark?

I move aside to avoid his presence but I escape him not.

He makes the dust rise from the earth with his swagger;

he adds his loud voice to every word that I utter.

He is my own little self, my lord, he knows no shame;

but I am ashamed to come to thy door in his company.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Who Is This?
,
540:Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it
droop and drop into the dust.

I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of
pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I am
aware, and the time of offering go by.

Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flower
in thy service and pluck it while there is time.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Flower
,
541:I plucked your flower, O world!
I pressed it to my heart and the
thorn pricked.
When the day waned and it
darkened, I found that the flower had
faded, but the pain remained.
More flowers will come to you with
perfume and pride, O world!
But my time for flower-gathering
is over, and through the dark night
I have not my rose, only the pain
remains.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LVII - I Plucked Your Flower
,
542:Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck
with my tears of sorrow.

The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet,
but mine will hang upon thy breast.

Wealth and fame come from thee
and it is for thee to give or to withhold them.
But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own,
and when I bring it to thee as my offering
thou rewardest me with thy grace.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Chain Of Pearls
,
543:If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its head bent low with patience. The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky. Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds' nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
544:Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all. Let only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel thee on every side, and come to thee in everything, and offer to thee my love every moment. Let only that little be left of me whereby I may never hide thee. Let only that little of my fetters be left whereby I am bound with thy will, and thy purpose is carried out in my life--and that is the fetter of thy love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
545:Give Me Strength This is my prayer to thee, my lord---strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart. Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows. Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service. Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might. Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles. And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
546:Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence? I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds. Open your doors and look abroad. From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before. In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across a hundred years. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
547:My Friend: Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend? The sky groans like one in despair. I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look out on the darkness, my friend! I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path! By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading thy course to come to me, my friend? ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
548:We cannot look upon our lives as dreams of a dreamer who has no awakening in all time. We have a personality to which matter and force are unmeaning unless related to something infinitely personal, whose nature we have discovered, in some measure, in human love, in the greatness of the good, in the martyrdom of heroic souls, in the ineffable beauty of nature, which can never be a mere physical fact nor anything but an expression of personality. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
549:I have got my leave. Bid me farewell, my brothers!
I bow to you all and take my departure.

Here I give back the keys of my door
-and I give up all claims to my house.
I only ask for last kind words from you.

We were neighbors for long,
but I received more than I could give.
Now the day has dawned
and the lamp that lit my dark corner is out.
A summons has come and I am ready for my journey.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Farewell
,
550:Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it. Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield but to my own strength. Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved but hope for the patience to win my freedom. Grant me that I may not be a coward, feeling your mercy in my success alone; but let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
551:I dreamt that she sat by my head, tenderly ruffling my hair with
her fingers, playing the melody of her touch. I looked at her face
and struggled with my tears, till the agony of unspoken words burst
my sleep like a bubble.
  I sat up and saw the glow of the Milky Way above my window,
like a world of silence on fire, and I wondered if at this moment
she had a dream that rhymed with mine.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XXVIII - I Dreamt
,
552:I thought that my voyage had come to its end
at the last limit of my power,-that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Closed Path
,
553:I have made You the polar star of my
existence; never again can I lose my way in the
voyage of life.

Wherever I go, You are always there to
shower your benefience all around me. Your face
is ever present before my mind's eyes.

If I lose sight of You even for a moment, I
almost lose my mind.

Whenever my heart is about to go astray, just
a glance of You makes it feel ashamed of itself.


~ Rabindranath Tagore, My Polar Star
,
554:Children who are decked with prince's robes and who have jeweled chains round their necks lose all pleasure in play; their dress hampers them at every step. In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust, they keep themselves from the world and are afraid ever to move. Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keep one shut off from the healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right of entrance to the great fair of common human life. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
555:There are those who will say that the idea of humanity is an abstraction, subjective in character. It must be confessed that the concrete objectiveness of this living truth cannot be proved to its own units. They can never see its entireness from outside; for they are one with it. The individual cells of our body have their separate lives; but they never have the opportunity of observing the body as a whole with its past, present, and future. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
556:THE river and its waves are one
surf: where is the difference between the river and its waves?
When the wave rises, it is the water; and when it falls, it is the same water again. Tell me, Sir, where is the distinction?
Because it has been named as wave, shall it no longer be considered as water?

Within the Supreme Brahma, the worlds are being told like beads:
Look upon that rosary with the eyes of wisdom.
Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
~ Kabir, Poem 8
,
557:Man’s kingdom is also continually extending in time through a great surplus in his power of memory, to which is linked his immense facility of borrowing the treasure of the past from all quarters of the world. He dwells in a universe of history, in an environment of continuous remembrance. The animal occupies time only through the multiplication of its own race, but man through the memorials of his mind, raised along the pilgrimage of progress. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
558:According to Indian Philosophy there is Brahman, the absolute truth, which cannot be conceived by the isolation of the individual mind or described by words but can only be realized by completely merging the individual in its infinity. But such a Truth cannot belong to Science. The nature of Truth which we are discussing is an appearance—that is to say, what appears to be true to the human mind and therefore human, and may be called māyā or illusion. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
559:On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time.
But it is never lost, my lord.
Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.

Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts,
buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.

I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed
and imagined all work had ceased.
In the morning I woke up
and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lost Time
,
560:When I go from hence, let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable. I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus that expands on the ocean of light, and thus I am blessed—let this be my parting word. In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had my play and here have I caught sight of him who is formless. My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it come—let this be my parting word. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
561:We have to keep in mind the fact that love and action are the only intermediaries through which perfect knowledge can be obtained; for the object of knowledge is not pedantry but wisdom. The primary object of an institution should not be merely to educate one’s limbs and mind to be in efficient readiness for all emergencies, but to be in perfect tune in the symphony of response between life and world, to find the balance of their harmony which is wisdom. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
562:Man goes into the noisy crowd
to drown his own clamour of silence.
~

Man is immortal; therefore he must die endlessly.
For life is a creative idea;
it can only find itself in changing forms.
~

Man's abiding happiness is not in getting anything
but in giving himself up to what is greater than himself,
to ideas which are larger than his individual life,
the idea of his country,
of humanity,
of God.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Poems On Man
,
563:Do not keep to yourself the secret of
your heart, my friend!
  Say it to me, only to me, in secret.
  You who smile so gently, softly
whisper, my heart will hear it, not my
ears.
  The night is deep, the house is
silent, the birds' nests are shrouded
with sleep.
  Speak to me through hesitating
tears, through faltering smiles, through
sweet shame and pain, the secret of
your heart!

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XXIV - Do Not Keep To Yourself
,
564:She brought close together numerous cell units and, by grouping them into a self-sustaining sphere of co-operation, elaborated a larger unit. It was not a mere agglomeration. The grouping had its caste system in the division of functions and yet an intimate unity of kinship. The creative life summoned a larger army of cells under her command and imparted into them, let us say, a communal spirit that fought with all its might whenever its integrity was menaced. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
565:If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it.
I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil
and its head bent low with patience.

The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish,
and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.

Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds' nests,
and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Patience
,
566:Only Thee That I want thee, only thee---let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core. As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry ---`I want thee, only thee'. As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is ---`I want thee, only thee'. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
567:This is my prayer to thee, my lord-strike,
strike at the root of penury in my heart.

Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.

Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.

Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might.

Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.

And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Give Me Strength
,
568:Say of him what you please, but I know my child's failings.
  I do not love him because he is good, but because he is my
little child.
  How should you know how dear he can be when you try to weigh
his merits against his faults?
  When I must punish him he becomes all the more a part of my
being.
  When I cause his tears to come my heart weeps with him.
  I alone have a right to blame and punish, for he only may
chastise who loves.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Judge
,
569:Art thou abroad on this stormy night
on thy journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight.
Ever and again I open my door and look out on
the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me.
I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river,
by what far edge of the frowning forest,
through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading
thy course to come to me, my friend?

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Friend
,
570:The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart….. I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house….. But the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house; I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
571:Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of the earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart. The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother- dust. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
572:Let only that little be left of me
whereby I may name thee my all.

Let only that little be left of my will
whereby I may feel thee on every side,
and come to thee in everything,
and offer to thee my love every moment.

Let only that little be left of me
whereby I may never hide thee.
Let only that little of my fetters be left
whereby I am bound with thy will,
and thy purpose is carried out in my life-and that is the fetter of thy love.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Little Of Me
,
573:A message came from my youth of vanished days, saying, " I wait for
you among the quivering of unborn May, where smiles ripen for tears
and hours ache with songs unsung."
  It says, "Come to me across the worn-out track of age, through
the gates of death. For dreams fade, hopes fail, the fathered
fruits of the year decay, but I am the eternal truth, and you shall
meet me again and again in your voyage of life from shore to
shore."

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XL - A Message Came
,
574:Somewhere in the arrangement of this world there seems to be a great concern about giving us delight, which shows that, in the universe, over and above the meaning of matter and forces, there is a message conveyed through the magic touch of personality. ... Is it merely because the rose is round and pink that it gives me more satisfaction than the gold which could buy me the necessities of life, or any number of slaves. ... Somehow we feel that through a rose the language of love reached our hearts. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
575:The road is my wedded companion. She speaks to me under my feet all
day, she sings to my dreams all night.
  My meeting with her had no beginning, it begins endlessly at
each daybreak, renewing its summer in fresh flowers and songs, and
her every new kiss is the first kiss to me.
  The road and I are lovers. I change my dress for her night
after night, leaving the tattered cumber of the old in the wayside
inns when the day dawns.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XLVII - The Road Is
,
576:O Servant, where dost thou seek Me? Lo! I am beside thee. I am neither in temple nor in mosque: I am neither in Kaaba nor in Kailash: Neither am I in rites and ceremonies, nor in Yoga and renunciation. If thou art a true seeker, thou shalt at once see Me: thou shalt meet Me in a moment of time. Kabr says, "O Sadhu! God is the breath of all breath." [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Kabir, Where dost thou seem me?
,
577:Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high, where knowledge is free. Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls. Where words come out from the depth of truth, where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection. Where the clear stream of reason has not lost it's way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit. Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever widening thought and action. In to that heaven of freedom, my father, LET MY COUNTRY AWAKE! ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
578:I must launch out my boat.
The languid hours pass by on the
shore-Alas for me!

The spring has done its flowering and taken leave.
And now with the burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.

The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane
the yellow leaves flutter and fall.

What emptiness do you gaze upon!
Do you not feel a thrill passing through the air
with the notes of the far-away song
floating from the other shore?

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Boat
,
579:Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break them. Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed. I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills my room. The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet hug it in love. My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
580:Theater, my Star?” Baba asks. I listen carefully, but there’s no disappointment in his tone, only surprise. “Yes, Baba,” I say. “It’s been an interest of mine. And I think I might be good at it. But Ma—” Baba takes my hand in both of his. “My grandmother used to organize natok in the village for the children—she loved to act. There’s nothing wrong with telling a story onstage. It’s beautiful work; it brings people together. Rabindranath Tagore wrote plays, didn’t he? I’ll handle your mother—don’t worry about that. ~ Mitali Perkins,
581:When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of mercy. When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song. When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest. When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king. When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one, thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
582:Do not go, my love, without asking
my leave.
  I have watched all night, and now
my eyes are heavy with sleep.
  I fear lest I lose you when I'm
sleeping.
  Do not go, my love, without asking
my leave.
  I start up and stretch my hands to
touch you. I ask myself, "Is it a
dream?"
  Could I but entangle your feet with
my heart and hold them fast to my
breast!
  Do not go, my love, without asking
my leave.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XXXIV - Do Not Go, My Love
,
583:Let us not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless when facing them." "Everything comes to us that belongs to us if we create the capacity to receive it." "Life is perpetually creative because it contains in itself that surplus which ever overflows the boundaries of the immediate time and space, restlessly pursuing its adventure of expression in the varied forms of self-realization." "The highest education is that which does not merely give us information but makes our life in harmony with all existence. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
584:Peace, my heart, let the time for
the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain
into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end
in the folding of the wings over the
nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be
gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a
moment, and say your last words in
silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp
to light you on your way.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LXI - Peace, My Heart
,
585:Day after day he comes and goes
away.
  Go, and give him a flower from my
hair, my friend.
  If he asks who was it that sent it, I
entreat you do not tell him my name
for he only comes and goes away.
  He sits on the dust under the tree.
  Spread there a seat with flowers and
leaves, my friend.
  His eyes are sad, and they bring
sadness to my heart.
  He does not speak what he has in
mind; he only comes and goes away.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XX - Day After Day He Comes
,
586:I touch God in my song as the hill touches the far-away sea with its waterfall. The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. Let my love, like sunlight, surround you and yet give you illumined freedom. Love remains a secret even when spoken, for only a lover truly knows that he is loved. Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for thee. In love I pay my endless debt to thee for what thou art. [bk1sm.gif] -- from The Fugitive, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Rabindranath Tagore, I touch God in my song
,
587:
   When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of mercy.
   When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song.
   When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest.
   When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king.
   When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one, thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
588:Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls; Where words come out from the depth of truth; Where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection; Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit; Where the mind is led forward by Thee into ever widening thought and action; Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake!”5 RABINDRANATH TAGORE ~ Paramahansa Yogananda,
589:Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls; Where words come out from the depth of truth; Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection; Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit; Where the mind is led forward by Thee into ever-widening thought and action; Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake!” —Rabindranath Tagore ~ Paramahansa Yogananda,
590:Come to my garden walk, my love. Pass by the fervid flowers that
press themselves on your sight. Pass them by, stopping at some
chance joy, which like a sudden wonder of sunset illumines, yet
elude.
  For lover's gift is shy, it never tells its name, it flits
across the shade, spreading a shiver of joy along the dust.
  Overtake it or miss it for ever. But a gift that can be
grasped is merely a frail flower, or a lamp with flame that will
flicker.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts II - Come To My Garden Walk
,
591:TELL me, O Swan, your ancient tale.
From what land do you come, O Swan? to what shore will you fly?
Where would you take your rest, O Swan, and what do you seek?

Even this morning, O Swan, awake, arise, follow me!
There is a land where no doubt nor sorrow have rule: where the terror of Death is no more.
There the woods of spring are a-bloom, and the fragrant scent "He is I" is borne on the wind:
There the bee of the heart is deeply immersed, and desires no other joy.
Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
~ Kabir, Poem 6
,
592:That I want thee, only thee-let my heart repeat without end.
All desires that distract me, day and night,
are false and empty to the core.

As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light,
even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry
-`I want thee, only thee'.

As the storm still seeks its end in peace
when it strikes against peace with all its might,
even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love
and still its cry is
-`I want thee, only thee'.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Only Thee
,
593:The realization of our soul has its moral and its spiritual side. The moral side represents training of unselfishness, control of desire; the spiritual side represents sympathy and love. They should be taken together and never separated. The cultivation of the merely moral side of our nature leads us to the dark region of narrowness and hardness of heart, to the intolerant arrogance of goodness; and the cultivation of the merely spiritual side of our nature leads us to a still darker region of revelry in intemperance of imagination. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
594:I know not from what distant time
thou art ever coming nearer to meet me.
Thy sun and stars can never keep thee hidden from me for aye.

In many a morning and eve thy footsteps have been heard
and thy messenger has come within my heart and called me in secret.

I know not only why today my life is all astir,
and a feeling of tremulous joy is passing through my heart.

It is as if the time were come to wind up my work,
and I feel in the air a faint smell of thy sweet presence.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Distant Time
,
595:Where the mind is without fear
and the head is held high,
where knowledge is free.
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls.
Where words come out from the depth of truth,
where tireless striving stretches its arms toward perfection.
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost it's way
into the dreary desert sand of dead habit.
Where the mind is led forward by thee
into ever widening thought and action.
In to that heaven of freedom, my father,
LET MY COUNTRY AWAKE! ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
596:Our self-realization reaches its perfection in the abnegation of self. This fact has made us aware that the individual finds his meaning in a fundamental reality comprehending all individuals—the reality which is the moral and spiritual basis of the realm of human values. This belongs to our religion. As science is the liberation of our knowledge in the universal reason, which cannot be other than human reason, religion is the liberation of our individual personality in the universal Person who is human all the same. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
597:O LORD Increate, who will serve Thee?
Every votary offers his worship to the God of his own creation: each day he receives service
None seek Him, the Perfect: Brahma, the Indivisible Lord.
They believe in ten Avatars; but no Avatar can be the Infinite Spirit, for he suffers the results of his deeds:
The Supreme One must be other than this.
The Yogi, the Sanyasi, the Ascetics, are disputing one with another:
Kabr says, "O brother! he who has seen that radiance of love, he is saved."
Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
~ Kabir, Poem 7
,
598:Freedom in the mere sense of independence has no content, and therefore no meaning. Perfect freedom lies in a perfect harmony of relationship, which we realize in this world not through our response to it in knowing, but in being. Objects of knowledge maintain an infinite distance from us who are the knowers. For knowledge is not union. Therefore the further world of freedom awaits us there where we reach truth, not through feeling it by our senses or knowing it by our reason, but through the union of perfect sympathy. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
599:To the guests that must go bid
God's speed and brush away all traces
of their steps.
  Take to your bosom with a smile
what is easy and simple and near.
  To-day is the festival of phantoms
that know not when they die.
  Let your laughter be but a meaning-
less mirth like twinkles of light on
the ripples.
  Let your life lightly dance on the
edges of Time like dew on the tip of
a leaf.
  Strike in chords from your harp
fitful momentary rhythms.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XLV - To The Guests
,
600:If the day is done,
if birds sing no more,
if the wind has flagged tired,
then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me,
even as thou hast wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep
and tenderly closed the petals of the drooping lotus at dusk.

From the traveler,
whose sack of provisions is empty before the voyage is ended,
whose garment is torn and dust-laden,
whose strength is exhausted,
remove shame and poverty,
and renew his life like a flower under the cover of thy kindly night.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, When Day Is Done
,
601:Go not to the temple to put flowers upon the feet of God, first fill your own house with the fragrance of love. Go not to the temple to light candles before the altar of God, first remove the darkness of sin from your heart. Go not to the temple to bow down your head in prayer, first learn to bow in humility before your fellow men. Go not to the temple to pray on bended knees, first bend down to lift someone who is down trodden. Go not to the temple to ask for forgiveness for your sins, first forgive from your heart those who have sinned against you. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
602: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, Lovers Gifts XXXIX - There Is A Looker-On
,
603:When I go from hence
let this be my parting word,
that what I have seen is unsurpassable.

I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus
that expands on the ocean of light,
and thus am I blessed
-let this be my parting word.

In this playhouse of infinite forms
I have had my play
and here have I caught sight of him that is formless.

My whole body and my limbs
have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch;
and if the end comes here, let it come
-let this be my parting word.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Parting Words
,
604:Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing
that thy living touch is upon all my limbs.

I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing
that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind.

I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my
love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart.

And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it
is thy power gives me strength to act.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Purity
,
605:There could be no question that it was Nature’s own plan to provide all land-walking mammals with two pairs of legs, evenly distributed along their lengthy trunk heavily weighted with a head at the end. This was the amicable compromise made with the earth when threatened by its conservative downward force, which extorts taxes for all movements. The fact that man gave up such an obviously sensible arrangement proves his inborn mania for repeated reforms of constitution, for pelting amendments at every resolution proposed by Providence. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
606:Hang up the swing of love today! Hang the body and the mind between the arms of the beloved, in the ecstasy of love's joy: Bring the tearful streams of the rainy clouds to your eyes, and cover your heart with the shadow of darkness: Bring your face nearer to his ear, and speak of the deepest longings of your heart. Kabir says: 'Listen to me brother! bring the vision of the Beloved in your heart.' [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Kabir, Hang up the swing of love today!
,
607:According to the true Indian view, our consciousness of the world, merely as the sum total of things that exist, and as governed by laws, is imperfect. But it is perfect when our consciousness realizes all things as spiritually one with it, and therefore capable of giving us joy. For us the highest purpose of this world is not merely living in it, knowing it and making use of it, but realizing our own selves in it through expansion of sympathy; not alienating ourselves from it and dominating it, but comprehending and uniting it with ourselves in perfect union. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
608:O woman, you are not merely the
handiwork of God, but also of men;
these are ever endowing you with
beauty from their hearts.
Poets are weaving for you a web
with threads of golden imagery;
painters are giving your form ever
new immortality.
The sea gives its pearls, the mines
their gold, the summer gardens their
flowers to deck you, to cover you, to
make you more precious.
The desire of men's hearts has shed
its glory over your youth.
You are one half woman and one
half dream.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LIX - O Woman
,
609:PLAYED day and night with my comrades, and now I am greatly afraid.
So high is my Lord's palace, my heart trembles to mount its stairs: yet I must not be shy, if I would enjoy His love.
My heart must cleave to my Lover; I must withdraw my veil, and meet Him with all my body:
Mine eyes must perform the ceremony of the lamps of love.
Kabr says: "Listen to me, friend: he understands who loves. If you feel not love's longing for your Beloved One, it is vain to adorn your body, vain to put unguent on your eyelids."
Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
~ Kabir, Poem 5
,
610:Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail
vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Little Flute
,
611:Accept me, my lord, accept me for this while. Let those orphaned days that passed without thee be forgotten. Only spread this little moment wide across thy lap, holding it under thy light. I have wandered in pursuit of voices that drew me yet led me nowhere. Now let me sit in peace and listen to thy words in the soul of my silence. Do not turn away thy face from my heart's dark secrets, but burn them till they are alight with thy fire. [bk1sm.gif] -- from Lover's Gift and Crossing, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Accept me, my lord, accept me for this while
,
612:I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works
that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.

Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.

Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.

Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Moments Indulgence
,
613: Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Where The Mind Is Without Fear
,
614:The song I came to sing
remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing
and in unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true,
the words have not been rightly set;
only there is the agony
of wishing in my heart..

I have not seen his face,
nor have I listened to his voice;
only I have heard his gentle footsteps
from the road before my house..

But the lamp has not been lit
and I cannot ask him into my house;
I live in the hope of meeting with him;
but this meeting is not yet.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Waiting
,
615:Lips' language to lips' ears.
Two drinking each other's heart, it seems.
Two roving loves who have left home,
pilgrims to the confluence of lips.
Two waves rise by the law of love
to break and die on two sets of lips.
Two wild desires craving each other
meet at last at the body's limits.
Love's writing a song in dainty letters,
layers of kiss-calligraphy on lips.
Plucking flowers from two sets of lips
perhaps to thread them into a chain later.
This sweet union of lips
is the red marriage-bed of a pair of smiles.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Kiss
,
616:The evening was lonely for me, and I was reading a book till my
heart became dry, and it seemed to me that beauty was a thing
fashioned by the traders in words. Tired I shut the book and
snuffed the candle. In a moment the room was flooded with
moonlight.
  Spirit of Beauty, how could you, whose radiance overbrims the
sky, stand hidden behind a candle's tiny flame? How could a few
vain words from a book rise like a mist, and veil her whose voice
has hushed the heart of earth into ineffable calm?

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts LVI - The Evening Was Lonely
,
617:We manage to swallow flesh only because we do not think of the cruel and sinful thing that we do. There are many crimes which are the creation of man himself, the wrongfulness of which is put down to their divergence from habit, custom, or tradition. But cruelty is not of these. It is a fundamental sin, and admits of no argument or nice distinctions. If only we do not allow our heart to grow callous, its protest against cruelty is always clearly heard; and yet we go on perpetrating cruelties easily, merrily, all of us - in fact, anyone who does not join in is dubbed a crank. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
618:Only when the mind has the sensitiveness to be able to respond to the deeper call of reality is it naturally weaned away from the lure of the fictitious value of things. It is callousness which robs us of our simple power to enjoy, and dooms us to the indignity of a snobbish pride in furniture and the foolish burden of expensive things. But the callousness of asceticism pitted against the callousness of luxury is merely fighting one evil with the help of another, inviting the pitiless demon of the desert in place of the indiscriminate demon of the jungle. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
619:Our union with this spirit is not to be attained through the mind. For our mind belongs to the department of economy in the human organism. It carefully husbands our consciousness for its own range of reason, within which to permit our relationship with the phenomenal world. But it is the object of Yoga to help us to transcend the limits built up by Mind. On the occasions when these are overcome, our inner self is filled with joy, which indicates that through such freedom we come into touch with the Reality that is an end in itself and therefore is bliss. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
620:I boasted among men that I had known you.
They see your pictures in all works of mine.
They come and ask me, `Who is he?'
I know not how to answer them. I say, `Indeed, I cannot tell.'
They blame me and they go away in scorn.
And you sit there smiling.

I put my tales of you into lasting songs.
The secret gushes out from my heart.
They come and ask me, `Tell me all your meanings.'
I know not how to answer them.
I say, `Ah, who knows what they mean!'
They smile and go away in utter scorn.
And you sit there smiling.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Sit Smiling
,
621:The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass
and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth
and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stream Of Life
,
622:When the heart is hard and parched up,
come upon me with a shower of mercy.

When grace is lost from life,
come with a burst of song.

When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from
beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest.

When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner,
break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king.

When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one,
thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Beggarly Heart
,
623:Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it is
beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day
and night; it is not of the earth.
  But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and
space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust.
Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your
palpitating heart.
  The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe
to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother-
dust.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XLIV - Where Is Heaven
,
624:The races of mankind will never again be able to go back to their citadels of high-walled exclusiveness. They are to-day exposed to one another, physically and intellectually. The shells which have so long given them full security within their individual enclosures have broken, and by no artificial process can they be mended again. So we have to accept this fact, even though we have not yet fully adapted our minds to this changed environment of publicity, even though through it we may have to run all the risks entailed by the wider expansion of life’s freedom. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
625:Day after day, O lord of my life,
shall I stand before thee face to face.
With folded hands, O lord of all worlds,
shall I stand before thee face to face.

Under thy great sky in solitude and silence,
with humble heart shall I stand before thee face to face.

In this laborious world of thine, tumultuous with toil
and with struggle, among hurrying crowds
shall I stand before thee face to face.

And when my work shall be done in this world,
O King of kings, alone and speechless
shall I stand before thee face to face.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Face To Face
,
626:O thou the last fulfilment of life,
Death, my death, come and whisper to me!

Day after day I have kept watch for thee;
for thee have I borne the joys and pangs of life.

All that I am, that I have, that I hope and all my love
have ever flowed towards thee in depth of secrecy.

One final glance from thine eyes
and my life will be ever thine own.

The flowers have been woven
and the garland is ready for the bridegroom.

After the wedding the bride shall leave her home
and meet her lord alone in the solitude of night.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Death
,
627:In one salutation to thee, my God,
let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet.

Like a rain-cloud of July
hung low with its burden of unshed showers
let all my mind bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee.

Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single current
and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee.

Like a flock of homesick cranes flying night and day
back to their mountain nests
let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home
in one salutation to thee.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Salutation
,
628:The 'I' that floats along the wave of time,
From a distance I watch him.
With the dust and the water,
With the fruit and the flower,
With the All he is rushing forward.
He is always on the surface,
Tossed by the waves and dancing to the rhythm
Of joy and suffering.
The least loss makes him suffer,
The least wound hurts him--
Him I see from afar.
That 'I' is not my real self;
I am still within myself,
I do not float in the stream of death.
I am free, I am desireless,
I am peace, I am illumined--
Him I see from afar.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, From Afar
,
629:That I want thee, only thee -- let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core. As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry -- I want thee, only thee. As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is -- I want thee, only thee. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Rabindranath Tagore, (38) I want thee, only thee (from Gitanjali)
,
630:As I walk along my way
I receive your touch
Now and then
But I dont know how and when.
Is it in the scent of an unknown flower
Or in the joy
I feel in the song of a travelling singer?
Do I receive your touch all on a sudden
When there is great sorrow
And my world is shaken
All the traces of my way are effaced
All the bonds are broken
And death deals a deadly blow?
I dont know.
A transcreation of the devotional song Pathe chole jete jete by Rabindranath Tagore. Translated by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Along The Way
,
631:He it is, the innermost one,
who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches.

He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes
and joyfully plays on the chords of my heart
in varied cadence of pleasure and pain.

He it is who weaves the web of this maya
in evanescent hues of gold and silver, blue and green,
and lets peep out through the folds his feet,
at whose touch I forget myself.

Days come and ages pass,
and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name,
in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Innermost One
,
632:Above the din of the clamour and scramble rises the voice of the Angel of Surplus, of leisure, of detachment from the compelling claim of physical need, saying to men, “Rejoice.” From his original serfdom as a creature Man takes his right seat as a creator. Whereas, before, his incessant appeal has been to get, now at last the call comes to him to give. His God, whose help he was in the habit of asking, now stands Himself at his door and asks for his offerings. As an animal, he is still dependent upon Nature; as a Man, he is a sovereign who builds his world and rules it. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
633:In no period of human history has there been such an epidemic of moral perversity, such a universal churning up of jealousy, greed, hatred and mutual suspicion. Every people, weak or strong, is constantly indulging in a violent dream of rendering itself thoroughly hurtful to others. In this galloping competition of hurtfulness, on the slope of a bottomless pit, no nation dares to stop or slow down. A scarlet fever with a raging temperature has attacked the entire body of mankind, and political passion has taken the place of creative personality in all departments of life. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
634: On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying,
and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my
dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.

That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to
me that is was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.

I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this
perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lotus
,
635:This is my delight,
thus to wait and watch at the wayside
where shadow chases light
and the rain comes in the wake of the summer.

Messengers, with tidings from unknown skies,
greet me and speed along the road.
My heart is glad within,
and the breath of the passing breeze is sweet.

From dawn till dusk I sit here before my door,
and I know that of a sudden
the happy moment will arrive when I shall see.

In the meanwhile I smile and I sing all alone.
In the meanwhile the air is filling with the perfume of promise.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Where Shadow Chases Light
,
636:Thy gifts to us mortals fulfill all our needs and yet run back to thee undiminished. The river has its everyday work to do and hastens through fields and hamlets; yet its incessant stream winds towards the washing of thy feet. The flower sweetens the air with its perfume; yet its last service is to offer itself to thee. Thy worship does not impoverish the world. From the words of the poet men take what meanings please them; yet their last meaning points to thee. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Rabindranath Tagore, (75) Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs (from Gitanjali)
,
637:Our present rough way of applying the causal principle is quite superficial. We are like a child who judges a poem by the rhyme and knows nothing of the rhythmic pattern. Or we are like a juvenile learner at the piano, just relating one note to that which immediately precedes or follows. To an extent this may be very well when one is dealing with very simple and primitive compositions; but it will not do for the interpretation of a Bach Fugue. Quantum physics has presented us with very complex processes and to meet them we must further enlarge and refine our concept of causality. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
638: by Rabindranath Tagore
It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky. It is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all night from star to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness of July. It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and desires, into sufferings and joys in human homes; and this it is that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ 4) It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world (from Gitanjali)
,
639:O how may I ever express that secret word? O how can I say He is not like this, and He is like that? If I say that He is within me, the universe is ashamed: If I say that He is without me, it is falsehood. He makes the inner and the outer worlds to be indivisibly one; The conscious and the unconscious, both are His footstools. He is neither manifest nor hidden, He is neither revealed nor unrevealed: There are no words to tell that which He is. [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Kabir, O how may I ever express that secret word?
,
640:Deliverance is not for me in renunciation.
I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.

Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various
colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.

My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame
and place them before the altar of thy temple.

No, I will never shut the doors of my senses.
The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.

Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy,
and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Senses
,
641:I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms,
hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.

No more sailing from harbor to harbor with this my weather-beaten boat.
The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves.

And now I am eager to die into the deathless.

Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss
where swells up the music of toneless strings
I shall take this harp of my life.

I shall tune it to the notes of forever,
and when it has sobbed out its last utterance,
lay down my silent harp at the feet of the silent.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Ocean Of Forms
,
642:Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new. At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Rabindranath Tagore, (1) Thou hast made me endless (from Gitanjali)
,
643:Over the green and yellow rice-fields
sweep the shadows of the autumn
clouds followed by the swift-chasing
sun.
  The bees forget to sip their honey;
drunken with light they foolishly hover
and hum.
  The ducks in the islands of the river
clamour in joy for mere nothing.
  Let none go back home, brothers,
this morning, let none go to work.
  Let us take the blue sky by storm
and plunder space as we run.
  Laughter floats in the air like foam
on the flood.
  Brothers, let us squander our
morning in futile songs.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LXXXIV - Over The Green
,
644:My love, once upon a time your poet
launched a great epic in his mind.
  Alas, I was not careful, and it struck
your ringing anklets and came to
grief.
  It broke up into scraps of songs and
lay scattered at your feet.
  All my cargo of the stories of old
wars was tossed by the laughing waves
and soaked in tears and sank.
  You must make this loss good to me,
my love.
  If my claims to immortal fame after
death are scattered, make me immortal
while I live.
  And I will not mourn for my loss nor
blame you.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XXXVIII - My Love, Once Upon A Time
,
645:Why did he choose to come to my
door, the wandering youth, when the
day dawned?
  As I come in and out I pass by him
every time, and my eyes are caught by
his face.
  I know not if I should speak to him
or keep silent. Why did he choose to
come to my door?
  The cloudy nights in July are dark;
the sky is soft blue in the autumn; the
spring days are restless with the south
wind.
  He weaves his songs with fresh
tunes every time.
  I turn from my work and my eyes
fill with the mist. Why did he choose
to come to my door?

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XXI - Why Did He Choose
,
646:The day was when I did not keep myself in readiness for thee;
and entering my heart unbidden even as one of the common crowd,
unknown to me, my king, thou didst press the signet of eternity upon
many a fleeting moment of my life.

And today when by chance I light upon them and see thy signature,
I find they have lain scattered in the dust mixed with the memory of
joys and sorrows of my trivial days forgotten.

Thou didst not turn in contempt from my childish play among dust,
and the steps that I heard in my playroom
are the same that are echoing from star to star.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Signet Of Eternity
,
647:Tell me, O Swan, your ancient tale. From what land do you come, O Swan? to what shore will you fly? Where would you take your rest, O Swan, and what do you seek? Even this morning, O Swan, awake, arise, follow me! There is a land where no doubt nor sorrow have rule: where the terror of Death is no more. There the woods of spring are a-bloom, and the fragrant scent "He is I" is borne on the wind: There the bee of the heart is deeply immersed, and desires no other joy. [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Kabir, Tell me, O Swan, your ancient tale
,
648:"Trust love even if it brings sorrow.
Do not close up your heart."
  "Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
  "Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop,
while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is
strong and abiding. Let sorrowful
love wake in your eyes."
  "Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
  "The lotus blooms in the sight of
the sun, and loses all that it has. It
would not remain in bud in the
eternal winter mist."
  "Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XXVII - Trust Love
,
649:On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. But it is never lost, my lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands. Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness. I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work had ceased. In the morning I woke up and found my garden full with wonders of flowers. [2652.jpg] -- from The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology), Edited by Ivan M. Granger

~ Rabindranath Tagore, On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time (from Gitanjali)
,
650:Dying, you have left behind you the great sadness of the Eternal
in my life. You have painted my thought's horizon with the sunset
colours of your departure, leaving a track of tears across the
earth to love's heaven. Clasped in your dear arms, life and death
united in me in a marriage bond.
  I think I can see you watching there in the balcony with your
lamp lighted, where the end and the beginning of all things meet.
My world went hence through the doors that you opened-you holding
the cup of death to my lips, filling it with life from your own.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XLIII - Dying, You Have Left Behind
,
651:Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs. It was they who led me from door to door, and with them have I felt about me, searching and touching my world. It was my songs that taught me all the lessons I ever learnt; they showed me secret paths, they brought before my sight many a star on the horizon of my heart. They guided me all the day long to the mysteries of the country of pleasure and pain, and, at last, to what palace gate have they brought me in the evening at the end of my journey? [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Rabindranath Tagore, (101) Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs (from Gitanjali)
,
652:No, my friends, I shall never be an
ascetic, whatever you may say.
  I shall never be and ascetic if she
does not take the vow with me.
  It is my firm resolve that if I
cannot find a shady shelter and a
companion for my penance, I shall
never turn ascetic.
  No, my friends, I shall never leave
my hearth and home, and retire into
the forest solitude, if rings no merry
laughter in its echoing shade and if
the end of no saffron mantle flutters
in the wind; if its silence is not
deepened by soft whispers.
  I shall never be an ascetic.
  
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XLIII - No, My Friends
,
653:Time is endless in thy hands, my lord.
There is none to count thy minutes.

Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers.
Thou knowest how to wait.

Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower.

We have no time to lose,
and having no time we must scramble for a chance.
We are too poor to be late.

And thus it is that time goes by
while I give it to every querulous man who claims it,
and thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last.

At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate be shut;
but I find that yet there is time.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Endless Time
,
654:When I give up the helm
I know that the time has come for thee to take it.
What there is to do will be instantly done.
Vain is this struggle.

Then take away your hands
and silently put up with your defeat, my heart,
and think it your good fortune to sit perfectly still
where you are placed.

These my lamps are blown out at every little puff of wind,
and trying to light them I forget all else again and again.

But I shall be wise this time and wait in the dark,
spreading my mat on the floor;
and whenever it is thy pleasure, my lord,
come silently and take thy seat here.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Still Heart
,
655:My dearest friend, for your tryst
You have chosen this stormy night
The sky is hopelessly crying
I have no sleep in my eyes
Opening my door
Again and again I am looking outside
I see nothing
My mind is full of worries
Where runs your way
Is it along the bank of the river
Or along the verge of the deep dark forest?
And in this darkness
Where are you crossing the stream?
Transcreation of one of the sweetest love songs Aji jhorer rate tomar abhisar by Rabindranath Tagore. Sung like a plain song it has been recorded by Debabrata Biswas. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Waiting For The Beloved
,
656:In one salutation to thee, my God, let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet. Like a rain-cloud of July hung low with its burden of unshed showers let all my mind bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee. Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single current and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee. Like a flock of homesick cranes flying night and day back to their mountain nests let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home in one salutation to thee. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Rabindranath Tagore, (103) In one salutation to thee, my God (from Gitanjali)
,
657:These notes bring to us our message of invitation. They eternally urge us to come out from the seclusion of our self-centred life into the realm of love and truth. Are we deaf by nature, or is it that we have been deafened by the claims of the world, of self-seeking, by the clamorous noise of the market-place? We miss the voice of the Lover, and we fight, we rob, we exploit the weak, we chuckle at our cleverness, when we can appropriate for our use what is due to others; we make our lives a desert by turning away from our world that stream of love which pours down from the blue sky and wells up from the bosom of the earth. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
658:I hunt for the golden stag.
  You may smile, my friends, but I
pursue the vision that eludes me.
  I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless lands, because I am
hunting for the golden stag.
  You come and buy in the market
and go back to your homes laden with
goods, but the spell of the homeless
winds has touched me I know not when
and where.
  I have no care in my heart; all my
belongings I have left far behind me.
  I run across hills and dales, I wander
through nameless landsbecause I am
hunting for the golden stag.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LXIX - I Hunt For The Golden Stag
,
659:Last night in the garden I offered you my youth's foaming wine. You
lifted the cup to your lips, you shut your eyes and smiled while
I raised your veil, unbound your tresses, drawing down upon my
breast your face sweet with its silence, last night when the moon's
dream overflowed the world of slumber.
  To-day in the dew-cooled calm of the dawn you are walking to
God's temple, bathed and robed in white, with a basketful of
flowers in your hand. I stand aside in the shade under the tree,
with my head bent, in the calm of the dawn by the lonely road to
the temple.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XIII - Last Night In The Garden
,
660:Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat,
only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our
pilgrimage to no country and to no end.

In that shoreless ocean,
at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies,
free as waves, free from all bondage of words.

Is the time not come yet?
Are there works still to do?
Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore
and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.

Who knows when the chains will be off,
and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset,
vanish into the night?

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Sail Away
,
661:Where roads are made, I lose my way. In the wide water, in the blue sky there is no line of a track. The pathway is hidden by the birds’ wings, by the starfires, by the flowers of the wayfaring seasons. And I ask my heart if its blood carries the wisdom of the unseen way. – Rabindranath Tagore, "VI," Fruit-Gathering When you pursue what matters to you, the end result may or may not be what you desire, but it will leave you a better, stronger, wiser, happier person. You will not feel lost, you will not feel tired, and there will be no anxiety. In the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, "Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. ~ Om Swami,
662:I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious!
Thy touch has not yet melted my vapor,
making me one with thy light,
and thus I count months and years separated from thee.

If this be thy wish and if this be thy play,
then take this fleeting emptiness of mine,
paint it with colors, gild it with gold,
float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders.

And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night,
I shall melt and vanish away in the dark,
or it may be in a smile of the white morning,
in a coolness of purity transparent.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Roaming Cloud
,
663:Have you not heard his silent steps?
He comes, comes, ever comes.

Every moment and every age,
every day and every night he comes, comes, ever comes.

Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind,
but all their notes have always proclaimed,
`He comes, comes, ever comes.'

In the fragrant days of sunny April through the forest path he comes,
comes, ever comes.

In the rainy gloom of July nights on the thundering chariot of clouds
he comes, comes, ever comes.

In sorrow after sorrow it is his steps that press upon my heart,
and it is the golden touch of his feet that makes my joy to shine.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Silent Steps
,
664:I would ask for still more, if I had the sky with all its stars,
and the world with its endless riches; but I would be content with
the smallest corner of this earth if only she were mine.

Like (1) 1
Free Love
By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in this world.
But it is otherwise with thy love which is greater than theirs,
and thou keepest me free.

Lest I forget them they never venture to leave me alone.
But day passes by after day and thou art not seen.

If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart,
thy love for me still waits for my love.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts V - I Would Ask For Still More
,
665:Where spring, the lord of seasons reigneth, there the unstruck music sounds of itself,
There the streams of light flow in all directions, few are the men who can cross to that shore!
There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded,
Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads, where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas,
Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation, where millions of Indras dwell in the sky,
Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered, where millions of Saraswatis, goddess of music play the vina,
There is my Lord self-revealed, and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps. ~ Kabir, II.57, Translated by Rabindranath Tagore[26],
666:One day I shall see this world no more
Forever my eyelids will close.
Next day as usual the night will end
And the day will dawn.
In usual business
The time will pass in every home
Keeping this in mind
Ardently I look at this world
Whatever I see doesnt seem useless
Everything seems rare -
Rare is the smallest place
Rare is the meanest soul.
Grant me O Lord
Whatever I got
Whatever I didnt
Things I didnt want
Thinking them as useless things.
Transcreation of the sonnet Durlabh Janma from the collection Chaitali (The Summer Harvest) by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Rare
,
667:THE moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it:
The moon is within me, and so is the sun.
The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it.

So long as man clamours for the I and the Mine, his works are as naught:
When all love of the I and the Mine is dead, then the work of the Lord is done.
For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge:
When that comes, then work is put away.

The flower blooms for the fruit: when the fruit comes, the flower withers.
The musk is in the deer, but it seeks it not within itself: it wanders in quest of grass.
Translated By Rabindranath Tagore.
~ Kabir, Theres A Moon Inside My Body
,
668:The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.

I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set;
only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.

The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.

I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice;
only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.

The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor;
but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.

I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Song Unsung
,
669:II
    Keep me fully glad with nothing. Only take my hand in your hand.
    In the gloom of the deepening night take up my heart and play with it as you list. Bind me close to you with nothing.
    I will spread myself out at your feet and lie still. Under this clouded sky I will meet silence with silence. I will become one with the night clasping the earth in my breast.
    Make my life glad with nothing.
    The rains sweep the sky from end to end. Jasmines in the wet untamable wind revel in their own perfume. The cloud-hidden stars thrill in secret. Let me fill to the full my heart with nothing but my own depth of joy.
    
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Keep Me Fully Glad
,
670:I like to be dependent, and so for ever
with warmth and care of my mother
my father , to love, kiss and embrace
wear life happily in all their grace.

I like to be dependent, and so for ever
on my kith and kin, for they all shower
harsh and warm advices, complaints
full wondering ,true and info giants.

I like to be dependent, and so for ever
for my friends, chat and want me near
with domestic,family and romantic tips
colleagues as well , guide me work at risks.

I like to be dependent, and so for ever
for my neighbours too, envy at times
when at my rise of fortune like to hear
my daily steps , easy and odd things too.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, My Dependence
,
671:Light, my light, the world-filling light,
the eye-kissing light,
heart-sweetening light!

Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the center of my life;
the light strikes, my darling, the chords of my love;
the sky opens, the wind runs wild, laughter passes over the earth.

The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light.
Lilies and jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light.

The light is shattered into gold on every cloud, my darling,
and it scatters gems in profusion.

Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling,
and gladness without measure.
The heaven's river has drowned its banks
and the flood of joy is abroad.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Light
,
672:My desires are many and my cry is pitiful,
but ever didst thou save me by hard refusals;
and this strong mercy has been wrought into my life through and through.

Day by day thou art making me worthy of the simple,
great gifts that thou gavest to me unasked-this sky and the light, this body and the
life and the mind-saving me from perils of overmuch desire.

There are times when I languidly linger
and times when I awaken and hurry in search of my goal;
but cruelly thou hidest thyself from before me.

Day by day thou art making me worthy of thy full acceptance by
refusing me ever and anon, saving me from perils of weak, uncertain desire.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Strong Mercy
,
673:In desperate hope I go and search for her
in all the corners of my room;
I find her not.

My house is small
and what once has gone from it can never be regained.

But infinite is thy mansion, my lord,
and seeking her I have to come to thy door.

I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky
and I lift my eager eyes to thy face.

I have come to the brink of eternity from which nothing can vanish
-no hope, no happiness, no vision of a face seen through tears.

Oh, dip my emptied life into that ocean,
plunge it into the deepest fullness.
Let me for once feel that lost sweet touch
in the allness of the universe.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Brink Of Eternity
,
674:WHERE Spring, the lord of the seasons, reigneth, there the Unstruck Music sounds of itself,
There the streams of light flow in all directions;
Few are the men who can cross to that shore!
There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded,
Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads,
Where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas,
Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation,
Where millions of Indras dwell in the sky,
Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered,
Where millions of Saraswatis, Goddess of Music, play on the veena
There is my Lord self-revealed: and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps.
Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
~ Kabir, Poem 9
,
675:I know that the day will come
when my sight of this earth shall be lost,
and life will take its leave in silence,
drawing the last curtain over my eyes.

Yet stars will watch at night,
and morning rise as before,
and hours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains.

When I think of this end of my moments,
the barrier of the moments breaks
and I see by the light of death
thy world with its careless treasures.
Rare is its lowliest seat,
rare is its meanest of lives.

Things that I longed for in vain
and things that I got
-let them pass.
Let me but truly possess
the things that I ever spurned
and overlooked.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Last Curtain
,
676:I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby's very
own world.
  I know it has stars that talk to him, and a sky that stoops
down to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and rainbows.
  Those who make believe to be dumb, and look as if they never
could move, come creeping to his window with their stories and with
trays crowded with bright toys.
  I wish I could travel by the road that crosses baby's mind,
and out beyond all bounds;
  Where messengers run errands for no cause between the kingdoms
of kings of no history;
  Where Reason makes kites of her laws and flies them, the Truth
sets Fact free from its fetters.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Babys World
,
677:Having suffered a lot
Those whose minds are wrought
The base of whose existence becomes shaky
Those who are listless
Let them listen
Dont ever forget yourselves.
Let you meet every day
Those who have won over death
Those who have kept their torch aflame
Above whatever is mean and small
If you make them dwarf
The sin of their disrespect
Will make you dwarf as well
And you will suffer that indignity forever.
Make yourselves honourable
Honouring them
In the world
Those who are memorable men.
A transcreation of poem 18 from the collection Janmadine by Rabindranath Tagore. Translated by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Gift Of The Great
,
678:No more noisy, loud words from me-such is my master's will.
Henceforth I deal in whispers.
The speech of my heart will be carried on in murmurings of a song.

Men hasten to the King's market. All the buyers and sellers are there.
But I have my untimely leave in the middle of the day, in the thick of work.

Let then the flowers come out in my garden, though it is not their time;
and let the midday bees strike up their lazy hum.

Full many an hour have I spent in the strife of the good and the evil,
but now it is the pleasure of my playmate of the empty days to draw my heart on to him;
and I know not why is this sudden call to what useless inconsequence!

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Untimely Leave
,
679:In rainy days
When it rains in pattering sounds
I cannot tell how I feel
So bewildered is my mind.
It seems as if someone has left
After calling and calling
And knocking at my door at night
When in rainy days
It rains in pattering sounds.
Be kind to me, my love and light up my heart
Seeing someones shadow in my dream
Half awake and half asleep
My eyes are filled with tears
I feel someone came to me at night
When in rainy days
It rains in pattering sounds.
A transcreation of one of the sweetest songs of the rains Jabe rimiki jhimiki jhare bhadarer dhara by Rabindranath Tagore. Translated by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Music Of The Rains
,
680:I was not aware of the moment
when I first crossed the threshold of this life.

What was the power that made me open out into this vast mystery
like a bud in the forest at midnight!

When in the morning I looked upon the light
I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in this world,
that the inscrutable without name and form
had taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother.

Even so, in death the same unknown will appear as ever known to me.
And because I love this life,
I know I shall love death as well.

The child cries out
when from the right breast the mother takes it away,
in the very next moment to find in the left one its consolation.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Threshold
,
681:Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning.
  I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
  I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
  Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning with!"
  Child, I have forgotten the art of being absorbed in sticks and mud-pies.
  I seek out costly playthings, and gather lumps of gold and silver.
  With whatever you find you create your glad games, I spend both my time and my strength over things I never can obtain.
  In my frail canoe I struggle to cross the sea of desire, and forget that I too am playing a game.
  
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Playthings
,
682:I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious! Thy touch has not yet melted my vapour, making me one with thy light, and thus I count months and years separated from thee. If this be thy wish and if this be thy play, then take this fleeting emptiness of mine, paint it with colours, gild it with gold, float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders. And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night, I shall melt and vanish away in the dark, or it may be in a smile of the white morning, in a coolness of purity transparent. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Rabindranath Tagore, (80) I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn (from Gitanjali)
,
683:The night is black and the forest has no end;
a million people thread it in a million ways.
We have trysts to keep in the darkness, but where
or with whom - of that we are unaware.
But we have this faith - that a lifetime's bliss
will appear any minute, with a smile upon its lips.
Scents, touches, sounds, snatches of songs
brush us, pass us, give us delightful shocks.
Then peradventure there's a flash of lightning:
whomever I see that instant I fall in love with.
I call that person and cry: `This life is blest!
for your sake such miles have I traversed!'
All those others who came close and moved off
in the darkness - I don't know if they exist or not.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, On The Nature Of Love
,
684:Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my
book all the morning.
  You say it is only twelve o'clock. Suppose it isn't any later;
can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve
o'clock?
  I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of
that rice-field, and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for
her supper by the side of the pond.
  I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing
darker under the madar tree, and the water in the pond looks shiny
black.
  If twelve o'clock can come in the night, why can't the night
come when it is twelve o'clock?
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Twelve OClock
,
685:This song of mine will wind its music around you, my child, like
the fond arms of love.
  This song of mine will touch your forehead like a kiss of
blessing.
  When you are alone it will sit by your side and whisper in
your ear, when you are in the crowd it will fence you about with
aloofness.
  My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams, it will
transport your heart to the verge of the unknown.
  It will be like the faithful star overhead when dark night is
over your road.
  My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes, and will carry
your sight into the heart of things.
  And when my voice is silent in death, my song will speak in
your living heart.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, My Song
,
686:"What comes from your willing
hands I take. I beg for nothing
more."
  "Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
  "If there be a stray flower for me
I will wear it in my heart."
  "But if there be thorns?"
  "I will endure them."
  "Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."
  "If but once you should raise your
loving eyes to my face it would make
my life sweet beyond death."
  "But if there be only cruel
glances?"
  "I will keep them piercing my
heart."
  "Yes, yes, I know you, modest
mendicant, you ask for all that one
has."

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XXVI - What Comes From Your Willing Hands
,
687:I often wonder where lie hidden
the boundaries of recognition between
man and the beast whose heart knows
no spoken language.
  Through what primal paradise in a
remote morning of creation ran the
simple path by which their hearts
visited each other.
  Those marks of their constant tread
have not been effaced though their
kinship has been long forgotten.
  Yet suddenly in some wordless
music the dim memory wakes up
and the beast gazes into the man's
face with a tender trust, and the
man looks down into its eyes with
amused affection.
  It seems that the two friends meet
masked, and vaguely know each other
through the disguise.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LXXIX - I Often Wonder
,
688:To what shore would you cross, O my heart? there is no traveller before you, there is no road:
Where is the movement, where is the rest, on that shore?
There is no water; no boat, no boatman, is there;
There is not so much as a rope to tow the boat, nor a man to draw it.
No earth, no sky, no time, no thing, is there: no shore, no ford!
There, there is neither body nor mind: and where is the place that shall still the thirst of the soul? You shall find naught in that emptiness.
Be strong, and enter into your own body: for there your foothold is firm. Consider it well, O my heart! go not elsewhere,
Kabr says: "Put all imaginations away, and stand fast in that which you are."

Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
~ Kabir, Poem 14
,
689:The most perfect inward expression has been attained by man in his own body. But what is most important of all is the fact that man has also attained its realization in a more subtle body outside his physical system. He misses himself when isolated; he finds his own larger and truer self in his wide human relationship. His multicellular body is born and it dies; his multi-personal humanity is immortal. In this ideal of unity he realizes the eternal in his life and the boundless in his love. The unity becomes not a mere subjective idea, but an energizing truth. Whatever name may be given to it, and whatever form it symbolizes, the consciousness of this unity is spiritual, and our effort to be true to it is our religion. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
690:There is room for you. You are alone with your few sheaves of rice.
My boat is crowded, it is heavily laden, but how can I turn you
away? Your young body is slim and swaying; there is a twinkling
smile in the edge of your eyes, and your robe is coloured like the
rain cloud.
  The travellers will land for different roads and homes. You
will sit for a while on the prow of my boat, and at the journey's
end none will keep you back.
  Where do you go, and to what home, to garner your sheaves? I
will not question you, but when I fold my sails and moor my boat
I shall sit and wonder in the evening, -Where do you go, and to
what home, to garner your sheaves?

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts VIII - There Is Room For You
,
691:Speak to me, my love! Tell me in
words what you sang.
  The night is dark. The stars are
lost in clouds. The wind is sighing
through the leaves.
  I will let loose my hair. My blue
cloak will cling round me like night. I
will clasp your head to my bosom; and
there in the sweet loneliness murmur
on your heart. I will shut my eyes
and listen. I will not look in your face.
  When your words are ended, we will
sit still and silent. Only the trees will
whisper in the dark.
  The night will pale. The day will
dawn. We shall look at each other's
eyes and go on our different paths.
  Speak to me, my love! Tell me in
words what you sang.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XXIX - Speak To Me My Love
,
692:The moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it: The moon is within me, and so is the sun. The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it. So long as man clamours for the I and the Mine, his works are as naught: When all love of the I and the Mine is dead, then the work of the Lord is done. For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge: When that comes, then work is put away. The flower blooms for the fruit: when the fruit comes, the flower withers. The musk is in the deer, but it seeks it not within itself: it wanders in quest of grass. [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Kabir, The moon shines in my body
,
693:Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not.
Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own.
Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.

I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter;
I forget that there abides the old in the new,
and that there also thou abidest.

Through birth and death, in this world or in others,
wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same,
the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.

When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut.
Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose
the bliss of the touch of the one
in the play of many.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Old And New
,
694:It is written in the book that Man, when fifty, must leave the
noisy world, to go to the forest seclusion. But the poet proclaims
that the forest hermitage is only for the young. For it is the
birthplace of flowers and the haunt of birds and bees; and hidden
hooks are waiting there for the thrill of lovers' whispers. There
the moon-light, that is all one kiss for the malati flowers, has
its deep message, but those who understand it are far below fifty.
  And alas, youth is inexperienced and wilful, therefore it is
but meet that the old should take charge of the household, and the
young take to the seclusion of forest shades and the severe
discipline of courting.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XIX - It Is Written In The Book
,
695:Your days will be full of cares, if you must give me your heart.
My house by the cross-roads has its doors open and my mind is
absent, -for I sing.
  I shall never be made to answer for it, if you must give me
your heart. If I pledge my word to you in tunes now, and am too
much in earnest to keep it when music is silent, you must forgive
me; for the law laid down in May is best broken in December.
  Do not always keep remembering it, if you must give me your
heart. When your eyes sing with love, and your voice ripples with
laughter, my answers to your questions will be wild, and not
miserly accurate in facts, -they are to be believed for ever and
then forgotten for good.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XVIII - Your Days
,
696:In the beginning of time, there rose from the churning of God's
dream two women. One is the dancer at the court of paradise, the
desired of men, she who laughs and plucks the minds of the wise
from their cold meditations and of fools from their emptiness; and
scatters them like seeds with careless hands in the extravagant
winds of March, in the flowering frenzy of May.
  The other is the crowned queen of heaven, the mother, throned
on the fullness of golden autumn; she who in the harvest-time
brings straying hearts to the smile sweet as tears, the beauty deep
as the sea of silence, -brings them to the temple of the Unknown,
at the holy confluence of Life and Death.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts LIV - In The Beginning Of Time
,
697:If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear, would
you say "No" to me if I tried to eat from your dish?
  Would you drive me off, saying to me, "Get away, you naughty
little puppy?"
  Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call
me, and never let you feed me any more.
  If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby,
mother dear, would you keep me chained lest I should fly away?
  Would you shake your finger at me and say, "What an ungrateful
wretch of a bird! It is gnawing at its chain day and night?"
  The go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods; I will
never let you take me in your arms again.
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Sympathy
,
698:At midnight the would-be ascetic
announced:
  "This is the time to give up my
home and seek for God. Ah, who has
held me so long in delusion here?"
  God whispered, "I," but the ears
of the man were stopped.
  With a baby asleep at her breast
lay his wife, peacefully sleeping on
one side of the bed.
  The man said, "Who are ye that
have fooled me so long?"
  The voice said again, "They are
God," but he heard it not.
  The baby cried out in its dream,
nestling close to its mother.
  God commanded, "Stop, fool, leave
not thy home," but still he heard not.
  God sighed and complained, "Why
does my servant wander to seek me,
forsaking me?"

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LXXV - At Midnight
,
699:Who are You, who keeps my heart awake? Every moment is lit by You, so that I feel no longer separate from You. Whose flute is playing sweet and bitter songs of love? It starts the cuckoos singing, and calls the nectar-heavy bees of my desire. A young wife could be blooming in the season of honey, watching the moon, and be stolen in a moment. Touch Radha, Whoever You are. She shivers at Your feet, risking everything to bear love's searing fire. Master, is that not You? She's grown reckless with her soul. Her fear is gone, her hesitation. Who are You? She'll weep at Your lotus feet until she knows. [2260.jpg] -- from The Lover of God, by Rabindranath Tagore / Translated by Tony Stewart

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Who are You, who keeps my heart awake? (from The Lover of God)
,
700:Above me, billboards advertise gun shows, mobile-telephone plans and law firms that specialize in drunk-driving cases. I looked into renting a billboard recently but my application was rejected.

THE GREATEST PROSPERITY COMES TO ITS END,
DISSOLVING INTO EMPTINESS; THE MIGHTIEST
EMPIRE IS OVERTAKEN BY STUPOR AMIDST
THE FLICKER OF ITS FESTIVAL LIGHTS
-Rabindrath Tagore

it would have said.

The billboard people told me they didn't know who Rabindranath Tagore was and could not verify anything he might have thought. He was certainly foreign and his sentiments insurrectionary. As well, what he was saying wasn't advertising anything. This night I see that space I tried to claim depicts black-and-white cows painting the words EAT MORE CHICKEN on the side of a barn. ~ Joy Williams,
701:LAMPS burn in every house, O blind one! and you cannot see them.
One day your eyes shall suddenly be opened, and you shall see: and the fetters of death will fall from you.
There is nothing to say or to hear, there is nothing to do: it is he who is living, yet dead, who shall never die again.

Because he lives in solitude, therefore the Yogi says that his home is far away.
Your Lord is near: yet you are climbing the palm-tree to seek Him.
The Brahman priest goes from house to house and initiates people into faith:
Alas! the true fountain of life is beside you, and you have set up a stone to worship.
Kabr says: "I may never express how sweet my Lord is. Yoga and the telling of beads, virtue and vicethese are naught to Him."
Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
~ Kabir, Poem 15
,
702:Two pairs of lips
Seem to whisper into each others ears
They seem to suck each others heart
Two loves
Leaving their homes
For an unknown land
Seem to have met
At the confluence of their lips
Two waves
Rising in the tides of love
Break and meet
At the beach of lips
Two passions
Asking each other
Have met at the bodys limit
Its song
Love seems to write
In tender words
On layers of kisses
Plucking flowers of love
From these pairs of lips
They will go home
To string into a garland
How sweet is this meeting
On a bridal bed
Of color and fun!
Transcreation of the poem Chumban from the collection Kadi O komal by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Kiss(2)
,
703:He's there among the scented trees, playing the notes he has taught you. Too late for embarrassment, shy doe nibbling at the forest's edge, shawled in deep blue shadows. He's calling you. The flower of your soul is opening, little deer. The river of scent will lead you deep into the trees where he waits. The bihanga also plays tonight -- do you hear his more distant flute? Black bees carry the moon's luster from flower to flower. The rest of the grove will bloom tonight, I think. How he looks at you, young animal. He shames the moon with his own dark light. Let's bow down before the young Lord, the deep blue flowers at his feet. [2260.jpg] -- from The Lover of God, by Rabindranath Tagore / Translated by Tony Stewart

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Hes there among the scented trees (from The Lover of God)
,
704:The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.

I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my
voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet.

It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself,
and that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune.

The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own,
and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.

My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said `Here art thou!'

The question and the cry `Oh, where?' melt into tears of a thousand
streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance `I am!'

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Journey Home
,
705:You walked by the riverside path
with the full pitcher upon your hip.
  Why did you swiftly turn your face
and peep at me through your fluttering
veil?
  That gleaming look from the dark
came upon me like a breeze that sends
a shiver through the rippling water
and sweeps away to the shadowy
shore.
  It came to me like the bird of the
evening that hurriedly flies across the
lampless room from the one open
window to the other, and disappears
in the night.
  You are hidden as a star behind the
hills, and I am a passer-by upon the
road.
  But why did you stop for a moment
and glance at my face through your
veil while you walked by the river-
side path with the full pitcher upon
your hip?

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XIX - You Walked
,
706:When the creation was new and all the stars shone in their first
splendor, the gods held their assembly in the sky and sang
`Oh, the picture of perfection! the joy unalloyed!'

But one cried of a sudden
-`It seems that somewhere there is a break in the chain of light
and one of the stars has been lost.'

The golden string of their harp snapped,
their song stopped, and they cried in dismay
-`Yes, that lost star was the best,
she was the glory of all heavens!'

From that day the search is unceasing for her,
and the cry goes on from one to the other
that in her the world has lost its one joy!

Only in the deepest silence of night the stars smile
and whisper among themselves
-`Vain is this seeking! unbroken perfection is over all!'

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lost Star
,
707:Freedom from fear is the freedom
I claim for you my motherland!
Freedom from the burden of the ages, bending your head,
breaking your back, blinding your eyes to the beckoning
call of the future;
Freedom from the shackles of slumber wherewith
you fasten yourself in night's stillness,
mistrusting the star that speaks of truth's adventurous paths;
freedom from the anarchy of destiny
whole sails are weakly yielded to the blind uncertain winds,
and the helm to a hand ever rigid and cold as death.
Freedom from the insult of dwelling in a puppet's world,
where movements are started through brainless wires,
repeated through mindless habits,
where figures wait with patience and obedience for the
master of show,
to be stirred into a mimicry of life.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Freedom
,
708:An unbelieving smile flits on your
eyes when I come to you to take my
leave.
  I have done it so often that you
think I will soon return.
  To tell you the truth I have the
same doubt in my mind.
  For the spring days come again
time after time; the full moon takes
leave and comes on another visit,
the flowers come again and blush
upon their branches year after year,
and it is likely that I take my leave
only to come to you again.
  But keep the illusion awhile; do
not send it away with ungentle
haste.
  When I say I leave you for all
time, accept it as true, and let a
mist of tears for one moment deepen
the dark rim of your eyes.
  Then smile as archly as you like
when I come again.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XL - An Unbelieving Smile
,
709: by Rabindranath Tagore
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger. I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter; I forget that there abides the old in the new, and that there also thou abidest. Through birth and death, in this world or in others, wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same, the one companion of my endless life who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar. When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss of the touch of the one in the play of the many. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore

~ 3) Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not (from Gitanjali)
,
710:WHEN I bring you coloured toys, my child, I understand why there is such a play of colours on clouds, on water, and why flowers are painted in tints--when I give coloured toys to you, my child.

When I sing to make you dance, I truly know why there is music in leaves, and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth--when I sing to make you dance.

When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands, I know why there is honey in the cup of the flower, and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice--when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.

When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling, I surely understand what pleasure streams from the sky in morning light, and what delight the summer breeze brings to my body--when I kiss you to make you smile.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, When And Why
,
711:On this misty overclouded rainy day
Evading all
Like silent night
In stealthy steps you have come.
The morning has closed its eyes
The wind is hopelessly sighing
And the blue naked sky
Is overcast with endless clouds
In the woodland the birds do not sing
In every home the doors are closed
You are a lonely wayfarer on a lonely road.
Now you are alone, O my dearest friend,
My doors I have kept open
Ignoring me
Like a dream
Please dont glide past my home.
Transcreation of one of the saddest yet sweetest rainy day song Aji shravanghanagahan mohe/gopan tabo charan phele/nishar mato nirab ohe/sabar dithi eraye ele by Rabindranath Tagore. A of this song by Debabrata Biswas is available. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, My Friend, Come In These Rains
,
712:I want to give you something, my child, for we are drifting in the
stream of the world.
  Our lives will be carried apart, and our love forgotten.
  But I am not so foolish as to hope that I could buy your heart
with my gifts.
  Young is your life, your path long, and you drink the love we
bring you at one draught and turn and run away from us.
  You have your play and your playmates. What harm is there if
you have no time or thought for us!
  We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age to count the days
that are past, to cherish in our hearts what our hands have lost
for ever.
  The river runs swift with a song, breaking through all
barriers. But the mountain stays and remembers, and follows her
with his love.
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gift
,
713:She who ever had remained in the depth of my being,

in the twilight of gleams and of glimpses;

she who never opened her veils in the morning light,

will be my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my final song.

Words have wooed yet failed to win her;

persuasion has stretched to her its eager arms in vain.

I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my heart,

and around her have risen and fallen the growth and decay of my life.

Over my thoughts and actions, my slumbers and dreams,

she reigned yet dwelled alone and apart.

Many a man knocked at my door and asked for her

and turned away in despair.

There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face,

and she remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, She
,
714:`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'

`It was my master,' said the prisoner.
`I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power,
and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king.
When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bed that was for my lord,
and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'

`Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'

`It was I,' said the prisoner, `who forged this chain very carefully.
I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive
leaving me in a freedom undisturbed.
Thus night and day I worked at the chain
with huge fires and cruel hard strokes.
When at last the work was done
and the links were complete and unbreakable,
I found that it held me in its grip.'

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Prisoner
,
715:I found some old letters today
You had secretly treasured them like toys
With utmost care
As some tokens of your life
Lived in affection and love
In its devastating flow
Time sweeps everything
The sun, the moon and the stars -
From that all devouring flood
With a timorous heart you saved them
And tucked them up in a secret place
Saying, they belong to none
They are exclusively mine.
Since you are gone
Where will they get a shelter now
For there is none in this wide world
To put up a claim
Who has kept you now
As you kept these letters in your bosom?
Transcreation of the poem Dekhilam khankoy puratan chithi - from the collection Smaran by Rabindranath Tagore. Written after the premature death of his wife. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Old Letters
,
716:I have been traveling long
My way is also long
When I had first started it was early dawn.
From planet to planet, from star to star
I have left my footprints along a winding path
Through so many hills and dales
Through so many lands.
To come close one has to travel far
It is very difficult indeed
But not to one who is straight at heart.
Traversing many alien countries
The traveler comes to his own land at last
Only after wandering in the outside world
One can find ones own inner God.

To say, Here you are,
I looked in so many places, so many ways I walked
But you are there everywhere in this world
Which we flood with tears
Crying, Where are you, O where!
Transcreation of poem 14 from the collection Gitimalya. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Meeting
,
717:Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads!
Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut?
Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!

He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground
and where the pathmaker is breaking stones.
He is with them in sun and in shower,
and his garment is covered with dust.
Put off thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil!

Deliverance?
Where is this deliverance to be found?
Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation;
he is bound with us all for ever.

Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense!
What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained?
Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Leave This
,
718:I seek so many things with all my heart
But you have saved me denying.
All through my life
This your cruel kindness
Has filled my being.
The things you gave me without asking
This sky full of light
This body, this soul and this mind
Saving me ever from too much craving
For these great gifts you are making me fit.
The way that leads to you
Sometimes I forget, sometimes I keep
But you are so cruel
From me you often step aside.
This is but your kindness, I know
Now you shove me away to take me later
Making me fit for my union with you
Saving me from my half-hearted love.
Transcreation of song no. 2 Ami bohu basanay pranpane chai/banchita kore banchale more from Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore. This has not been included in the English Gitanjali.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Cruel Kindness
,
719:This Dog
   Every morning this dog, very attached to me,
   Quietly keeps sitting near my seat
   Till touching its head
   I recognize its company.
   This recognition gives it so much joy
   Pure delight ripples through its entire body.
   Among all dumb creatures
   It is the only living being
   That has seen the whole man
   Beyond what is good or bad in him
   It has seen
   For his love it can sacrifice its life
   It can love him too for the sake of love alone
   For it is he who shows the way
   To the vast world pulsating with life.
   When I see its deep devotion
   The offer of its whole being
   I fail to understand
   By its sheer instinct
   What truth it has discovered in man.
   By its silent anxious piteous looks
   It cannot communicate what it understands
   But it has succeeded in conveying to me
   Among the whole creation
   What is the true status of man.
   ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
720:Where are those tears in your eyes, my child?
  How horrid of them to be always scolding you for nothing!
  You have stained your fingers and face with ink while writing-
is that why they call you dirty?
  O, fie! Would they dare to call the full moon dirty because
it has smudged its face with ink?
  For every little trifle they blame you, my child. They are
ready to find fault for nothing.
  You tore your clothes while playing-is that why they call you
untidy?
  O, fie! What would they call an autumn morning that smiles
through its ragged clouds?
  Take no heed of what they say to you, my child.
  They make a long list of your misdeeds.
  Everybody knows how you love sweet things-is that why they
call you greedy?
  O, fie! What then would they call us who love you?
  
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Defamation
,
721:WHEN I go alone at night to my love-tryst, birds do not sing, the wind does not stir, the houses on both sides of the street stand silent.
      It is my own anklets that grow loud at every step and I am ashamed.
    
      When I sit on my balcony and listen for his footsteps, leaves do not rustle on the trees, and the water is still in the river like the sword on the knees of a sentry fallen asleep.
      It is my own heart that beats wildly -- I do not know how to quiet it.
    
      When my love comes and sits by my side, when my body trembles and my eyelids droop, the night darkens, the wind blows out the lamp, and the clouds draw veils over the stars.
      It is the jewel at my own breast that shines and gives light. I do not know how to hide it.


~ Rabindranath Tagore, When I Go Alone At Night
,
722:The night was dark when she went away, and the slept.
  The night is dark now, and I call for her, "Come back, my
darling; the world is asleep; and no one would know, if you came
for a moment while stars are gazing at stars."
  She went away when the trees were in bud and the spring was
young.
  Now the flowers are in high bloom and I call, "Come back, my
darling. The children gather and scatter flowers in reckless sport.
And if you come and take one little blossom no one will miss it."
  Those that used to play are playing still, so spendthrift is
life.
  I listen to their chatter and call, "Come back, my darling,
for mother's heart is full to the brim with love, and if you come
to snatch only one little kiss from her no one will grudge it."
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Recall
,
723:IN the dusky path of a dream I went to seek the love who was mine in a former life.
    
      Her house stood at the end of a desolate street.
      In the evening breeze her pet peacock sat drowsing on its perch, and the pigeons were silent in their corner.
    
      She set her lamp down by the portal and stood before me.
      She raised her large eyes to my face and mutely asked, "Are you well, my friend?"
      I tried to answer, but our language had been lost and forgotten.
    
      I thought and thought; our names would not come to my mind.
      Tears shone in her eyes. She held up her right hand to me. I took it and stood silent.
    
      Our lamp had flickered in the evening breeze and died.


~ Rabindranath Tagore, In The Dusky Path Of A Dream
,
724:They clamour and fight, they doubt and despair, they know no end
to their wrangling.
  Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my
child, unflickering and pure, and delight them into silence.
They are cruel in their greed and their envy, their words are like
hidden knives thirsting for blood.
  Go and stand amidst their scowling hearts, my child, and let
your gentle eyes fall upon them like the forgiving peace of the
evening over the strife of the day.
  Let them see your face, my child, and thus know the meaning
of all things; let them love you and thus love each other.
  Come and take your seat in the bosom of the limitless, my
child. At sunrise open and raise your heart like a blossoming
flower, and at sunset bend your head and in silence complete the
worship of the day.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Child-Angel
,
725:Day by day I float my paper boats one by one down the running
stream.
  In big black letters I write my name on them and the name of
the village where I live.
  I hope that someone in some strange land will find them and
know who I am.
  I load my little boats with shiuli flower from our garden, and
hope that these blooms of the dawn will be carried safely to land
in the night.
  I launch my paper boats and look up into the sky and see the
little clouds setting thee white bulging sails.
  I know not what playmate of mine in the sky sends them down
the air to race with my boats!
  When night comes I bury my face in my arms and dream that my
paper boats float on and on under the midnight stars.
  The fairies of sleep are sailing in them, and the lading ins
their baskets full of dreams.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Paper Boats
,
726:When I bring to you colored toys, my child,
I understand why there is such a play of colors on clouds, on water,
and why flowers are painted in tints
-when I give colored toys to you, my child.

When I sing to make you dance
I truly know why there is music in leaves,
and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth
-when I sing to make you dance.

When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands
I know why there is honey in the cup of the flowers
and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice
-when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.

When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling,
I surely understand what pleasure streams from the sky in morning light,
and what delight that is that is which the summer breeze brings to my body
-when I kiss you to make you smile.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Colored Toys
,
727:I am restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.

I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not the winged horse.

I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine takes shape in the blue of the sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in the house where I dwell alone!

~ Rabindranath Tagore, I Am Restless
,
728:Listen, can you hear it? His bamboo flute speaks the pure language of love. The moon enlightens the trees, the path, the sinuous Yamuna. Oblivious of the jasmine's scent I stagger around, disheveled heart bereft of modesty, eyes wet with nerves and delight. Tell me, dear friend, say it aloud: is he not my own Dark Lord Syama? Is it not my name his flute pours into the empty evening? For eons I longed for God, I yearned to know him. That's why he has come to me now, deep emerald Lord of my breath. O Syama, whenever your faraway flute thrills through the dark, I say your name, only your name, and will my body to dissolve in the luminous Yamuna. Go to her, Lord, go now. What's stopping you? The earth drowns in sleep. Let's go. I'll walk with you. [2260.jpg] -- from The Lover of God, by Rabindranath Tagore / Translated by Tony Stewart

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Listen, can you hear it? (from The Lover of God)
,
729:In the morning I cast my net into the sea.

I dragged up from the dark abyss things of strange aspect and strange beauty -- some shone like a smile, some glistened like tears, and some were flushed like the cheeks of a bride.

When with the day's burden I went home, my love was sitting in the garden idly tearing the leaves of a flower.

I hesitated for a moment, and then placed at her feet all that I had dragged up, and stood silent.

She glanced at them and said, "What strange things are these? I know not of what use they are!"

I bowed my head in shame and thought, "I have not fought for these, I did not buy them in the market; they are not fit gifts for her."

Then the whole night through I flung them one by one into the street.

In the morning travellers came; they picked them up and carried them into far countries.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, I Cast My Net Into The Sea
,
730:I travelled the old road every day, I took my fruits to the market,
my cattle to the meadows, I ferried my boat across the stream and
all the ways were well known to me.
  One morning my basket was heavy with wares. Men were busy in
the fields, the pastures crowded with cattle; the breast of earth
heaved with the mirth of ripening rice.
  Suddenly there was a tremor in the air, and the sky seemed to
kiss me on my forehead. My mind started up like the morning out of
mist.
  I forgot to follow the track. I stepped a few paces from the
path, and my familiar world appeared strange to me, like a flower
I had only known in bud.
  My everyday wisdom was ashamed. I went astray in the fairyland
of things. It was the best luck of my life that I lost my path that
morning, and found my eternal childhood.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XLVIII - I Travelled The Old Road
,
731:That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides,
thus casting colored shadows on thy radiance
-such is thy Maya.

Thou settest a barrier in thine own being
and then callest thy severed self in myriad notes.
This thy self-separation has taken body in me.

The poignant song is echoed through all the sky in many-coloured tears
and smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again,
dreams break and form.
In me is thy own defeat of self.

This screen that thou hast raised is painted with innumerable figures
with the brush of the night and the day.
Behind it thy seat is woven in wondrous mysteries of curves,
casting away all barren lines of straightness.

The great pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky.
With the tune of thee and me all the air is vibrant,
and all ages pass with the hiding and seeking of thee and me.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Maya
,
732:Tired of waiting, you burst your bonds, impatient flowers, before
the winter had gone. Glimpses of the unseen comer reached your
wayside watch, and you rushed out running and panting, impulsive
jasmines, troops of riotous roses.
  You were the first to march to the breach of death, your
clamour of colour and perfume troubled the air. You laughed and
pressed and pushed each other, bared your breast and dropped in
heaps.
  The Summer will come in its time, sailing in the flood-tide
of the south wind. But you never counted slow moments to be sure
of him. You recklessly spent your all in the road, in the terrible
joy of faith.
  You heard his footsteps from afar, and flung your mantle of
death for him to tread upon. Your bonds break even before the
rescuer is seen, you make him your own ere he can come and claim
you.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts LII - Tired Of Waiting
,
733:When I go alone at night to my
love-tryst, birds do not sing, the wind
does not stir, the houses on both sides
of the street stand silent.
  It is my own anklets that grow loud
at every step and I am ashamed.
  When I sit on my balcony and listen
for his footsteps, leaves do not rustle
on the trees, and the water is still in
the river like the sword on the knees
of a sentry fallen asleep.
  It is my own heart that beats wildly
I do not know how to quiet it.
  When my love comes and sits by
my side, when my body trembles and
my eyelids droop, the night darkens,
the wind blows out the lamp, and the
clouds draw veils over the stars.
  It is the jewel at my own breast
that shines and gives light. I do not
know how to hide it.
(This short poem is an excerpt from 'The Gardener' by Tagore)

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener IX - When I Go Alone At Night
,
734:When the two sisters go to fetch
water, they come to this spot and
they smile.
  They must be aware of somebody
who stands behind the trees when-
ever they go to fetch water.
  The two sisters whisper to each
other when they pass this spot.
  They must have guessed the secret
of that somebody who stands behind
the trees whenever they go to
fetch water.
  Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and
water spills when they reach this
spot.
  They must have found out that
somebody's heart is beating who
stands behind the trees whenever
they go to fetch water.
  The two sisters glance at each other
when they come to this spot, and they
smile.
  There is a laughter in their swift-
stepping feet, which makes confusion
in somebody's mind who stands behind
the trees whenever they go to
fetch water.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XVIII - When Two Sisters
,
735:Light, oh where is the light?
Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!

There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame-is such thy fate, my heart?
Ah, death were better by far for thee!

Misery knocks at thy door,
and her message is that thy lord is wakeful,
and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness of night.

The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless.
I know not what this is that stirs in me-I know not its meaning.

A moment's flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on my sight,
and my heart gropes for the path to where the music of the night calls me.

Light, oh where is the light!
Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!
It thunders and the wind rushes screaming through the void.
The night is black as a black stone.
Let not the hours pass by in the dark.
Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lamp Of Love
,
736:God alone did not create you, my girl
You are also the creation of men
From the core of their heart
They have endowed you with charm.
With golden threads of similes
Your dress the poet weaves.
To immortalize your image
The painter puts on your face
An ever fresh glow.
So many colours, scents and costumes
From the seas come pearls
From the mines comes gold
Heaps of flowers come
From the garden in spring
Insects sacrifice their lives
To colour your feet.
With your coyness, your dresses
And with all those trimmings
You keep yourself beyond easy reach
And a burning longing you always ignite
Your one half is made of flesh and blood
Your other half is the fantasy of our mind.
Transcreation of the sonnet Manasi from the collection Chaitali (The Summer Harvest) by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Dream Girl
,
737:I paced alone on the road across the field while the sunset was
hiding its last gold like a miser.
  The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness, and the
widowed land, whose harvest had been reaped, lay silent.
  Suddenly a boy's shrill voice rose into the sky. He traversed
the dark unseen, leaving the track of his song across the hush of
the evening.
  His village home lay there at the end of the waste land,
beyond the sugar-cane field, hidden among the shadows of the banana
and the slender areca palm, the coconut and the dark green jack-
fruit trees.
  I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight,
and saw spread before me the darkened earth surrounding with her
arms countless homes furnished with cradles and beds, mother's
hearts and evening lamps, and young lives glad with a gladness that
knows nothing of its value for the world.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Home
,
738:Radiant energy, space, time, and the planets were the thrones of the gigantic Inert, dumb and desolate, which knew not the meaning of its own blind destiny and majestically frowned upon a future when its monarchy would be menaced. Then came a time when life was brought into the arena in the tiniest little monocycle of a cell. It was made conscious, not of the volume but of the value of existence, which it ever tried to enhance and maintain in many-branched paths of creation. But the miracle of creation did not stop here in this isolated speck of life. A multitude of cells were bound together into a larger unit, not through aggregation, but through a marvelous quality of complex interrelationship maintaining a perfect co-ordination of functions. Before the chapter ended Man appeared and turned the course of this evolution from an indefinite march of physical aggrandizement to a freedom of a more subtle perfection. ~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Religion of Man,
739:Ever I am restless
I am athirst for the far.
My time passes by
And in an absent mind
I keep waiting at my window
Hoping and hoping you will come.
O how my entire being
Is eager for your intimate touch!
O you far, O you boundless far
So irresistible is the call of your flute
But I forget I have no wings
I am bound to one place.
I am listless, I am indifferent.
At the sun-tinged lazy midday
Among the rustling of the trees
In the play of light and shade
In the blue of the sky
I get a glimpse of your fugitive form.
O you far, O you boundless far
So irresistible is the call of your flute
But I forget my doors are barred.
Transcreation of perhaps the most romantic song Ami chanchal he, ami sudurer piyasi by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.A recording of this song by Debabrata Biswas is available.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Call Of The Far
,
740:Bless this little heart, this white soul that has won the kiss of
heaven for our earth.
  He loves the light of the sun, he loves the sight of his
mother's face.
  He has not learned to despise the dust, and to hanker after
gold.
  Clasp him to your heart and bless him.
  He has come into this land of an hundred cross-roads.
  I know not how he chose you from the crowd, came to your door,
and grasped you hand to ask his way.
  He will follow you, laughing the talking, and not a doubt in
his heart.
  Keep his trust, lead him straight and bless him.
  Lay your hand on his head, and pray that though the waves
underneath grow threatening, yet the breath from above may come and
fill his sails and waft him to the heaven of peace.
  Forget him not in your hurry, let him come to your heart and
bless him.
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Benediction
,
741:The sleep that flits on baby's eyes-does anybody know from where
it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where,
in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with
glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there it
comes to kiss baby's eyes.
  The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps-does
anybody know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumour that a young
pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn
cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew
washed morning-the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he
sleeps.
  The sweet, soft freshness hat blooms on baby's limbs-does
anybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes, when the mother was
a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent
mystery of love-the sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed on
baby's limbs.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Source
,
742: You are a cluster of clouds of the evening sky
I have sought only you all my life
It is you who fills my empty sky
I have made you with the sweet fancies of my mind
You are mine, you are mine
O you wanderer of my boundless sky.

With the blood of my heart I have beautified your feet
My evening dreams are full of you
I have coloured your lips with poison and honey
Mixing with my joys and sorrows
You are mine, you are mine
You have filled my lonely being.

I have coloured your eyes with collyrium
Made of the fancies of my love
You always fill the view of my spellbound eyes
With my music
I have dressed all your limbs
You are mine, you are mine
Both in my life and death you fill my being.

---------
Transcreation of the love song Tumi sandhyar meghamala - by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Tumi Sandhyar Meghamala - You Are A Cluster Of Clouds - Translation

,
743:O you shaggy-headed banyan tree standing on the bank of the pond,
have you forgotten the little child,
like the birds that have nested in your branches and left you?

Do you not remember how he sat at the window
and wondered at the tangle of your roots and plunged underground?

The women would come to fill their jars in the pond,
and your huge black shadow would wriggle
on the water like sleep struggling to wake up.

Sunlight danced on the ripples like
restless tiny shuttles weaving golden tapestry.

Two ducks swam by the weedy margin above their shadows,
and the child would sit still and think.

He longed to be the wind and blow through your resting branches,
to be your shadow and lengthen with the day on the water,
to be a bird and perch on your topmost twig,
and to float like those ducks among the weeds and shadows.
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Banyan Tree
,
744: WHEN the two sisters go to fetch water, they come to this spot and they smile.
      They must be aware of somebody who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
    
      The two sisters whisper to each other when they pass this spot.
      They must have guessed the secret of that somebody who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
    
      Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and water spills when they reach this spot.
      They must have found out that somebody's heart is beating who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.
    
      The two sisters glance at each other when they come to this spot, and they smile.
      There is a laughter in their swift-stepping feet, which makes confusion in somebody's mind who stands behind the trees whenever they go to fetch water.


~ Rabindranath Tagore, When the Two Sister Go To Fetch Water
,
745:Why do you whisper so faintly in
my ears, O Death, my Death?
  When the flowers droop in the
evening and cattle come back to their
stalls, you stealthily come to my side
and speak words that I do not
understand.
  Is this how you must woo and win
me with the opiate of drowsy murmur
and cold kisses, O Death, my Death?
  Will there be no proud ceremony
for our wedding?
  Will you not tie up with a wreath
your tawny coiled locks?
  Is there none to carry your banner
before you, and will not the night be
on fire with your red torch-lights,
O Death, my Death?
  Come with your conch-shells sound-
ing, come in the sleepless night.
  Dress me with a crimson mantle,
grasp my hand and take me.
  Let your chariot be ready at my
door with your horses neighing impatiently.
  Raise my veil and look at my face
proudly, O Death, my Death!

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LXXXI - Why Do You Whisper So Faintly
,
746:Here I get him closest to my heart
As close is the earth beneath my feet
As are close to me
The fruits, flowers and the air and water.
Here I love him too
As I love the songs of birds
The murmur of streams
The mellowness around
The light of dawn and the greeneries of trees.
Here I find him beautiful
As the evening is beautiful
As the fragrance of flowers filling the night
And the dew-drenched morning
With its clean air
And a lone star in its sky.
Here he is dear to my heart
As the rain water dropping from the sky
The sweet sleep of night
The water of rivers
And the cool shade of trees.
Like the tears trickling down my eyes
Here my song flows with ease.
Here his love fills my heart
As life fills all my limbs.
A transcreation of the poem Palligrame from the collection Chaitali (The Summer Harvest) by Rabindranath Tagore. Translated by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas

~ Rabindranath Tagore, In The Country
,
747:I only said, "When in the evening the round full moon gets
entangled among the beaches of that Dadam tree, couldn't somebody
catch it?"
  But dada laughed at me and said, "Baby, you are the silliest
child I have ever known. The moon is ever so far from us, how could
anybody catch it?"
  I said, "Dada, how foolish you are! When mother looks out of
her window and smiles down at us playing, would you call her far
away?"
  Still dada said, "You are a stupid child! But, baby where
could you find a net big enough to catch the moon with?"
  I said, "Surely you could catch it with your hands."
  But dada laughed and said, "You are the silliest child I have
known. If it came nearer, you would see how big the moon is."
  I said, "Dada, what nonsense they teach at your school! When
mother bends her face down to kiss us, does her face look very
big?"
  But still dada says, "You are a stupid child."
  
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Astronomer
,
748:31

THE trees come up to my window

like the yearning voice of the dumb earth.

32

HIS own mornings are new surprises to God.

33

LIFE finds its wealth by the claims of the world,

and its worth by the claims of love.

34

THE dry river-bed finds no thanks for its past.

35

THE bird wishes it were a cloud.

The cloud wishes it were a bird.

36

THE waterfall sings,

"I find my song,

when I find my freedom."

37

I CANNOT tell why this heart languishes in silence.

It is for small needs it never asks,

or knows or remembers.

38

WOMAN,

when you move about in your household service

your limbs sing like a hill stream among its pebbles.

39

THE sun goes to cross the Western sea,

leaving its last salutation to the East.

40

DO not blame your food because you have no appetite.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 31 - 40
,
749:Ah, these jasmines, these white jasmines!
  I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands with
these jasmines, these white jasmines.
  I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
  I have heard the liquid murmur of the river thorough the
darkness of midnight;
  Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of a road in the
lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil to accept her lover.
  Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines
that I held in my hands when I was a child.
  Many a glad day has come in my life, and I have laughed with
merrymakers on festival nights.
  On grey mornings of rain I have crooned many an idle song.
  I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of bakulas woven
by the hand of love.
  Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh
jasmines that filled my hands when I was a child.
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The First Jasmines
,
750:Palm-tree: single-legged giant,
     topping other trees,
      peering at the firmament -
It longs to pierce the black cloud-ceiling
     and fly away, away,
      if only it had wings.

The tree seems to express its wish
     in the tossing of its head:
      its fronds heave and swish -
It thinks, Maybe my leaves are feathers,
     and nothing stops me now
      from rising on their flutter.

All day  the fronds the windblown tree
     soar and flap and shudder
      as though it thinks it can fly,
As though it wanders in the skies,
     travelling who knows where,
      wheeling past the stars -

And then as soon as the wind dies down,
     the fronds subside, subside:
      the mind of the tree returns.
To earth, recalls that earth is its mother:
     and then it likes once more
      its earthly corner.  
      
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Palm Tree
,
751:I spent my day on the scorching
hot dust of the road.
Now, in the cool of the evening, I
knock at the door of the inn. It is
deserted and in ruins.
A grim ashath tree spreads its
hungry clutching roots through the
gaping fissures of the walls.
Days have been when wayfarers
came here to wash their weary feet.
They spread their mats in the
courtyard in the dim light of the
early moon, and sat and talked of
strange lands.
They woke refreshed in the morning
when birds made them glad, and
friendly flowers nodded their heads
at them from the wayside.
But no lighted lamp awaited me
when I came here.
The black smudges of smoke left by
many a forgotten evening lamp stare,
like blind eyes, from the wall.
Fireflies flit in the bush near the
dried-up pond, and bamboo branches
fling their shadows on the grass-
grown path.
I am the guest of no one at the end
of my day.
The long night is before me, and I
am tired.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LXIV - I Spent My Day
,
752:Things throng and laugh loud in the sky; the sands and dust dance
and whirl like children. Man's mind is aroused by their shouts; his
thoughts long to be the playmates of things.
  Our dreams, drifting in the stream of the vague, stretch their
arms to clutch the earth, -their efforts stiffen into bricks and
stones, and thus the city of man is built.
  Voices come swarming from the past,-seeking answers from the
living moments. Beats of their wings fill the air with tremulous
shadows, and sleepless thoughts in our minds leave their nests to
take flight across the desert of dimness, in the passionate thirst
for forms. They are lampless pilgrims, seeking the shore of light,
to find themselves in things. They will be lured into poets's
rhymes, they will be housed in the towers of the town not yet
planned, they have their call to arms from the battle fields of the
future, they are bidden to join hands in the strife of peace yet
to come.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts LVIII - Things Throng And Laugh
,
753:71

THE woodcutter's axe begged for its handle from the tree.

The tree gave it.

72

IN my solitude of heart

I feel the sigh of this widowed evening

veiled with mist and rain.

73

CHASTITY

is a wealth that comes from

abundance of love.

74

THE mist,

like love,

plays upon the heart of the hills

and brings out surprises of beauty.

75

WE read the world wrong

and say that it deceives us.

76

THE poet wind is out over the sea

and the forest to seek his own voice.

77

EVERY child

comes with the message

that God is not yet discouraged

of man.

78

THE grass seeks her crowd in the earth.

The tree seeks his solitude of the sky.

79

MAN barricades against himself.

80

YOUR voice, my friend,

wanders in my heart,

like the muffled sound of the sea

among these listening pines.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 71 - 80
,
754:If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life
then let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight
-let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.

As my days pass in the crowded market of this world
and my hands grow full with the daily profits,
let me ever feel that I have gained nothing
-let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.

When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting,
when I spread my bed low in the dust,
let me ever feel that the long journey is still before me
-let me not forget a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.

When my rooms have been decked out and the flutes sound
and the laughter there is loud,
let me ever feel that I have not invited thee to my house
-let me not forget for a moment,
let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Let Me Not Forget
,
755:Your questioning eyes are sad. They seek to know my
meaning as the moon would fathom the sea.
I have bared my life before your eyes from end to end,
with nothing hidden or held back. That is why you know
me not.
If it were only a gem, I could break it into a hundred
pieces and string them into a chain to put on your neck.
If it were only a flower, round and small and sweet, I could
pluck it from its stem to set it in your hair.
But it is a heart, my beloved. Where are its shores and its
bottom?
You know not the limits of this kingdom, still you are its
queen.
If it were only a moment of pleasure it would flower in an
easy smile, and you could see it and read it in a moment.
If it were merely a pain it would melt in limpid tears,
reflecting its inmost secret without a word.
But it is love, my beloved.
Its pleasure and pain are boundless, and endless its wants
and wealth.
It is as near to you as your life, but you can never wholly
know it.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XXVIII - Your Questioning Eyes
,
756:The sky is full of the sun and the stars
The universe is full of life
Among all these I have found a place
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
The world is swayed
By eternitys rushing tide
Rising and falling
I have felt its tug in my blood
Racing through my veins
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
While walking in the woodlands
With my feet I have touched the blades of grass
I have been startled by the flowers fragrance
They have all maddened my mind
The gifts of gladness and joy
Are strewn all around
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
I have pricked my ears
I have opened my eyes
I have bared my heart to the world
In the midst of the known
I have sought the unknown
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
--------
Transcreation of the song Akash bhara surya tara biswabhara pran by Rabindranath Tagore. Listening to Debabrata Biswas singing this wonderful song is a rare experience. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.

Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, And In Wonder And Amazement I Sing
,
757:Your flute plays the exact notes of my pain. It toys with me. Where did you learn such stealth, such subtle wounding, Kan? The arrows in my breast burn even in rain and wind. Wasted moments pulse around me, wishes and desires, departing happiness -- Master, my soul scorches. I think you can see its heat in my eyes, its intensity and cruelty. So let me drown in the cool and consoling Yamuna, or slake my desire in your cool, consoling, changing-moon face. It's the face I'll see in death. Here's my wish and pledge: that that same moon will spill its white pollen down through the roof of flowers into the grove, where I'll consecrate my life to it forever, and be its flute-breath, the perfume that hangs upon the air, making all the young girls melancholy. That's my prayer. Oh, the two of you, way out of earshot. If you look back you'll see me, Bhanu, warming herself at the week embers of the past. [2260.jpg] -- from The Lover of God, by Rabindranath Tagore / Translated by Tony Stewart

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Your flute plays the exact notes of my pain. (from The Lover of God)
,
758:XIV
    I found a few old letters of mine carefully hidden in thy boxa few small toys for thy memory to play with. With a timorous heart thou didst try to steal these trifles from the turbulent stream of time which washes away planets and stars, and didst say, These are only mine! Alas, there is no one now who can claim themwho is able to pay their price; yet they are still here. Is there no love in this world to rescue thee from utter loss, even like this love of thine that saved these letters with such fond care?
    O woman, thou camest for a moment to my side and touched me with the great mystery of the woman that there is in the heart of creationshe who ever gives back to God his own outflow of sweetness; who is the eternal love and beauty and youth; who dances in bubbling streams and sings in the morning light; who with heaving waves suckles the thirsty earth and whose mercy melts in rain; in whom the eternal one breaks in two in joy that can contain itself no more and overflows in the pain of love.
    
~ Rabindranath Tagore, I Found A Few Old Letters
,
759:. "Come and hire me," I cried, while in the morning I was walking on the stone-paved road.
  Sword in hand, the King came in his chariot.
  He held my hand and said, "I will hire you with my power."
  But his power counted for nought, and he went away in his chariot.

  In the heat of the midday the houses stood with shut doors.
  I wandered along the crooked lane.
  An old man came out with his bag of gold.
  He pondered and said, "I will hire you with my money."
  He weighed his coins one by one, but I turned away.

It was evening. The garden hedge was all aflower.
The fair maid came out and said, "I will hire you with a smile."
Her smile paled and melted into tears, and she went back alone into the dark.

The sun glistened on the sand, and the sea waves broke waywardly.
A child sat playing with shells.
He raised his head and seemed to know me, and said, "I hire you with nothing."
From thenceforward that bargain struck in child's play made me a free man.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Last Bargain
,
760:I wonder if I know him
In whose speech is my voice,
In whose movement is my being,
Whose skill is in my lines,
Whose melody is in my songs
In joy and sorrow.
I thought he was chained within me,
Contained by tears and laughter,
Work and play.
I thought he was my very self
Coming to an end with my death.
Why then in a flood of joy do I feel him
In the sight and touch of my beloved?
This 'I' beyond self I found
On the shores of the shining sea.
Therefore I know
This 'I' is not imprisoned within my bounds.
Losing myself, I find him
Beyond the borders of time and space.
Through the Ages
I come to know his Shining Self
In the life of the seeker,
In the voice of the poet.
From the dark clouds pour the rains.
I sit and think:
Bearing so many forms, so many names,
I come down, crossing the threshold
Of countless births and deaths.
The Supreme undivided, complete in himself,
Embracing past and present,
Dwells in Man.
Within Him I shall find myself -
The 'I' that reaches everywhere.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, I
,
761:Reverend sir, forgive this pair of
sinners. Spring winds to-day are
blowing in wild eddies, driving dust
and dead leaves away, and with them
your lessons are all lost.
  Do not say, father, that life is a
vanity.
  For we have made truce with death
for once, and only for a few fragrant
hours we two have been made immortal.
  Even if the king's army came and
fiercely fell upon us we should sadly
shake our heads and say, Brothers,
you are disturbing us. If you must
have this noisy game, go and clatter
your arms elsewhere. Since only for
a few fleeting moments we have been
made immortal.
  If friendly people came and flocked
around us, we should humbly bow to
them and say, This extravagant good
fortune is an embarrassment to us.
Room is scarce in the infinite sky
where we dwell. For in the spring-
time flowers come in crowds, and the
busy wings of bees jostle each other.
Our little heaven, where dwell only
we two immortals, is too absurdly
narrow.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XLIV - Reverend Sir, Forgive
,
762:61

TAKE my wine in my own cup, friend.

It loses its wreath of foam

when poured into that of others.

62

THE Perfect decks itself in beauty

for the love of the Imperfect.

63

GOD says to man,

"I heal you therefore I hurt,

love you therefore punish."

64

THANK the flame for its light,

but do not forget the lampholder

standing in the shade with constancy of patience.

65

TINY grass,

your steps are small,

but you possess the earth under your tread.

66

THE infant flower opens its bud and cries,

"Dear World, please do not fade."

67

GOD grows weary of great kingdoms,

but never of little flowers.

68

WRONG cannot afford defeat

but Right can.

69

"I GIVE my whole water in joy,

" sings the waterfall,

"though little of it is enough for the thirsty."

70

WHERE is the fountain

that throws up these flowers

in a ceaseless outbreak of ecstasy?

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 61 - 70
,
763:And in Wonder and Amazement I Sing

The sky is full of the sun and the stars
The universe is full of life
Among all these I have found a place
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
The world is swayed
By eternitys rushing tide
Rising and falling
I have felt its tug in my blood
Racing through my veins
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
While walking in the woodlands
With my feet I have touched the blades of grass
I have been startled by the flowers fragrance
They have all maddened my mind
The gifts of gladness and joy
Are strewn all around
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
I have pricked my ears
I have opened my eyes
I have bared my heart to the world
In the midst of the known
I have sought the unknown
And in wonder and amazement I sing.
This transcreation of the song Akash bhara surya tara biswabhara pran was created by Kumud Biswas. As he says . . "Listening to Debabrata Biswas singing this wonderful song is a rare experience."

Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Akash Bhara Surya Tara Biswabhara Pran (Translation)
,
764:11
SOME unseen fingers, like idle breeze,
are playing upon my heart the music of the ripples.

12

"WHAT language is thine, O sea?"
"The language of eternal question."
"What language is thy answer, O sky?
"The language of eternal silence."

13

LISTEN,
my heart,
to the whispers of the world
with which it makes love to you.

14

THE mystery of creation
is like the darkness of night--
it is great.

Delusions of knowledge are like
the fog of the morning.

15

DO not seat your love upon a precipice because it is high.
16

I SIT at my window this morning
where the world like a passer-by stops for a moment,
nods to me and goes.

17

THESE little thoughts are the rustle of leaves;
they have their whisper of
joy in my mind.

18

WHAT you are you do not see,
what you see is your shadow.
19

MY wishes are fools, they shout across thy songs, my Master.
Let me but listen.

20

I CANNOT choose the best.
The best chooses me.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 11- 20
,
765:21

THEY throw their shadows before them

who carry their lantern on their back.

22

THAT I exist

is a perpetual surprise

which is life.

23

"WE, the rustling leaves,

have a voice that answers the storms,

but who are you so silent?"

"I am a mere flower."

24

REST belongs to the work

as the eyelids to the eyes.

25

MAN is a born child,

his power is the power of growth.

26

GOD expects answers for the flowers he sends us,

not for the sun

and the earth.

27

THE light that plays, like a naked child,

among the green leaves happily knows not

that man can lie.

28

O BEAUTY,

find thyself in love,

not in the flattery of thy mirror.

29

MY heart beats her waves at the shore of the world

and writes upon it her signature in tears with the words,

"I love thee."

30

"MOON,

for what do you wait?"

"To salute the sun for whom I must make way."

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 21 - 30
,
766:When storm-clouds rumble in the sky and June showers come down.
  The moist east wind comes marching over the heath to blow its
bagpipes among the bamboos.
  Then crowds of flowers come out of a sudden, from nobody knows
where, and dance upon the grass in wild glee.
  Mother, I really think the flowers go to school underground.
  They do their lessons with doors shut, and if they want to
come out to play before it is time, their master makes them stand
in a corner.
  When the rain come they have their holidays.
  Branches clash together in the forest, and the leaves rustle
in the wild wind, the thunder-clouds clap their giant hands and the
flower children rush out in dresses of pink and yellow and white.
  Do you know, mother, their home is in the sky, where the stars
are.
  Haven't you see how eager they are to get there? Don't you
know why they are in such a hurry?
  Of course, I can guess to whom they raise their arms; they
have their mother as I have my own.
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Flower-School
,
767:It was mid-day when you went
away .
  The sun was strong in the sky.
  I had done my work and sat alone
on my balcony when you went away.
  Fitful gusts came winnowing
through the smells of may distant
fields.
  The doves cooed tireless in the shade,
and a bee strayed in my room hum-
ming the news of many distant fields.
  The village slept in the noonday
heat. The road lay deserted.
  In sudden fits the rustling of the
leaves rose and died.
  I gazed at the sky and wove in the
blue the letters of a name I had known,
while the village slept in the noonday
heat.
  I had forgotten to braid my hair.
The languid breeze played with it upon
my cheek.
  The river ran unruffled under the
shady bank.
  The lazy white clouds did not move.
  I had forgotten to braid my hair.
  It was mid-day when you went
away.
  The dust of the road was hot and
the fields panting.
  The doves cooed among the dense
leaves.
  I was alone in my balcony when you
went away.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LV - It Was Mid-Day
,
768:Imagine, mother, that you are to stay at home and I am to travel
into strange lands.
  Imagine that my boat is ready at the landing fully laden.
  Now think well, mother, before you say what I shall bring for
you when I come back.
  Mother, do you want heaps and heaps of gold?
  There, by the banks of golden streams, fields are full of
golden harvest.
  And in the shade of the forest path the golden champ flower
drop on the ground.
  I will gather them all for you in many hundred baskets.
  Mother, do you want pearls big as the raindrops of autumn?
  I shall cross to the pearl island shore.
  There in the early morning light pearls tremble on the meadow
flowers, pearls drop on the grass, and pearls are scattered on the
sand in spray by the wild sea-waves.
  My brother shall have a pair of horses with wings to fly among
the clouds.
  For father I shall bring a magic pen that, without his
knowing, will write of itself.
  For you, mother, I must have the casket and jewel that cost
seven kings their kingdom.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Merchant
,
769:WHEN He Himself reveals Himself, Brahma brings into manifestation That which can never be seen.
As the seed is in the plant, as the shade is in the tree, as the void is in the sky, as infinite forms are in the void
So from beyond the Infinite, the Infinite comes; and from the Infinite the finite extends.

The creature is in Brahma, and Brahma is in the creature: they are ever distinct, yet ever united.
He Himself is the tree, the seed, and the germ.
He Himself is the flower, the fruit, and the shade.
He Himself is the sun, the light, and the lighted.
He Himself is Brahma, creature, and Maya.
He Himself is the manifold form, the infinite space;
He is the breath, the word, and the meaning.
He Himself is the limit and the limitless: and beyond both the limited and the limitless is He, the Pure Being.
He is the Immanent Mind in Brahma and in the creature.

The Supreme Soul is seen within the soul,
The Point is seen within the Supreme Soul,
And within the Point, the reflection is seen again.
Kabr is blest because he has this supreme vision!
Tramslated by Rabindranath Tagore
~ Kabir, Poem 2
,
770:Mother, your baby is silly! She is so absurdly childish!
  She does not know the difference between the lights in the
streets and the stars.
  When we play at eating with pebbles, she thinks they are real
food, and tries to put them into her mouth.
  When I open a book before her and ask her to learn her a, b,
c, she tears the leaves with her hands and roars for joy at
nothing; this is your baby's way of doing her lesson.
  When I shake my head at her in anger and scold her and call
her naughty, she laughs and thinks it great fun.
  Everybody knows that father is away, but if in play I call
aloud "Father," she looks about her in excitement and thinks that
father is near.
  When I hold my class with the donkeys that our washer man
brings to carry away the clothes and I warn her that I am the
schoolmaster, she will scream for no reason and call me dada.
  Your baby wants to catch the moon. She is so funny; she calls
Ganesh Ganush.
  Mother, your baby is silly! She is so absurdly childish!
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Superior
,
771:81

WHAT is this unseen flame of darkness

whose sparks are the stars?

82

LET life be beautiful like summer flowers

and death like autumn leaves.

88

HE who wants to do good knocks at the gate;

he who loves

finds the gate open.

84

IN death the many becomes one;

in life the one becomes many.

Religion will be one

when God is dead.

85

THE artist is the lover of Nature,

therefore he is her slave

and her master.

86

"HOW far are you from me, O Fruit?"

"I am hidden in your heart, O Flower."

87

THIS longing is for the one who is felt in the dark,

but not seen in the day.

88

"YOU are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf,

I am the smaller one on its upper side,

" said the dewdrop to the lake.

89

THE scabbard is content to be dull

when it protects the keenness of the sword.

90

IN darkness

the One appears as uniform;

in the light

the One appears as manifold.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 81 - 90
,
772:One day in spring, a woman came
In my lonely woods,
In the lovely form of the Beloved.
Came, to give to my songs, melodies,
To give to my dreams, sweetness.
Suddenly a wild wave
Broke over my heart's shores
And drowned all language.
To my lips no name came,
She stood beneath the tree, turned,
Glanced at my face, made sad with pain,
And with quick steps, came and sat by me.
Taking my hands in hers, she said:
'You do not know me, nor I you
I wonder how this could be?'
I said:
'We two shall build, a bridge for ever
Between two beings, each to the other unknown,
This eager wonder is at the heart of things.'

The cry that is in my heart is also the cry of her heart;
The thread with which she binds me binds her too.
Her have I sought everywhere,
Her have I worshipped within me,
Hidden in that worship she has sought me too.
Crossing the wide oceans, she came to steal my heart.
She forgot to return, having lost her own.
Her own charms play traitor to her,
She spreads her net, knowing not
Whether she will catch or be caught.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, One Day In Spring....
,
773:She dwelt here by the pool with its landing-stairs in ruins. Many
an evening she had watched the moon made dizzy by the shaking of
bamboo leaves, and on many a rainy day the smell of the wet earth
had come to her over the young shoots of rice.
  Her pet name is known here among those date-palm groves and
in the courtyards where girls sit and talk while stitching their
winter quilts. The water in this pool keeps in its depth the memory
of her swimming limbs, and her wet feet had left their marks, day
after day, on the footpath leading to the village.
  The women who come to-day with their vessels to the water have
all seen her smile over simple jests, and the old peasant, taking
his bullocks to their bath, used to stop at her door every day to
greet her.
  Many a sailing-boat passes by this village; many a traveller
takes rest beneath that banyan tree; the ferry-boat crosses to
yonder ford carrying crowds to the market; but they never notice
this spot by the village road, near the pool with its ruined
landing-stairs,-where dwelt she whom I love.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XVI - She Dwelt Here By The Pool
,
774:I asked nothing, only stood at the
edge of the wood behind the tree.
  Languor was still upon the eyes
of the dawn, and the dew in the air.
  The lazy smell of the damp grass
hung in the thin mist above the earth.
  Under the banyan tree you were
milking the cow with your hands,
tender and fresh as butter.
  And I was standing still.
  I did not say a word. It was the
bird that sang unseen from the thicket.
  The mango tree was shedding its
flowers upon the village road, and the
bees came humming one by one.
  On the side of the pond the gate of
Shiva's temple was opened and the
worshipper had begun his chants.
  With the vessel on your lap you
were milking the cow.
  I stood with my empty can.
  I did not come near you.
  The sky woke with the sound of
the gong at the temple.
  The dust was raised in the road
from the hoofs of the driven cattle.
  With the gurgling pitchers at their
hips, women came from the river.
  Your bracelets were jingling, and
foam brimming over the jar.
  The morning wore on and I did not
come near you.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XIII - I Asked Nothing
,
775:The boat of the boatman Madhu is moored at the wharf of Rajgunj.
  It is uselessly laden with jute, and has been lying there idle
for ever so long.
  If he would only lend me his boat, I should man her with a
hundred oars, and hoist sails, five or six or seven.
  I should never steer her to stupid markets.
  I should sail the seven seas and the thirteen rivers of
fairyland.
  But, mother, you won't weep for me in a corner.
  I am not going into the forest like Ramachandra to come back
only after fourteen years.
  I shall become the prince of the story, and fill my boat with
whatever I like.
  I shall take my friend Ashu with me. We shall sail merrily
across the ever seas and the thirteen rivers of fairyland.
  We shall set sail in the early morning light.
  When at noontide you are bathing at the pond, we shall be in
the land of a strange king.
  We shall pass the ford of Tirpurni, and leave behind us the
desert of Tepantar.
  When we come back it will be getting dark, and I shall tell
you of all that we have seen.
  I shall cross the seven seas and the thirteen rivers of
fairyland.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Sailor
,
776:51

YOUR idol is shattered in the dust

to prove that God's dust is greater than

your idol.

52

MAN does not reveal himself in his history,

he struggles up through it.

53

WHILE the glass lamp rebukes the earthen for calling it cousin,

the moon rises, and the glass lamp,

with a bland smile, calls her,

"My dear, dear sister."

54

LIKE the meeting of the seagulls

and the waves we meet and come near.

The seagulls fly off,

the waves roll away and we depart.

55

MY day is done,

and I am like a boat drawn on the beach,

listening to the dance-music of t

he tide in the evening.

56

LIFE is given to us,

we earn it by giving it.

57

WE come nearest to the great

when we are great in humility.

58

THE sparrow is sorry for the peacock

at the burden of its tail.

59

NEVER be afraid of the moments--

thus sings the voice of the everlasting.

60

THE hurricane seeks the shortest road

by the no-road,

and suddenly ends its search in the Nowhere.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 51 - 60
,
777:Unending Love

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times...
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star, piercing the darkness of time.
You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers,
Shared in the same shy sweetness of meeting,
the distressful tears of farewell,
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man's days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours -
And the songs of every poet past and forever. ~ Rabindranath Tagore,
778: I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, its age-old pain,
Its ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:
You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers, shared in the same
Shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell-
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all mans days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours
And the songs of every poet past and forever.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Unending Love
,
779:When I called you in your garden
Mango blooms were rich in fragrance -
Why did you remain so distant,
Keep your doors so tightly fastened?
Blossoms grew to ripe fruit-clusters -
Your rejected my cuppded handfuls,
Closed your eyes to perfectness.

In the fierce harsh storms of Baisakh,
Golden ripened fruit fell tumbling.
'Dust, I said, 'defiles such offerings:
Let your hands be heaven to them.'
Still you showed no friendliness.

Lampless were your doors at evening,
Pitch-black as I played my vina.
How the starlight twanged my heartstrings!
How I set my vina dancing!
You showed no responsiveness.

Sad birds twittered sleeplessly,
Calling, calling lost companions.
Gone the right time for our union -
Low the moon while still you brooded,
Sunk in lonely pensiveness.

Who can understand another!
Heart cannot restrain its passion.
I had hoped that some remaining
Tear-soaked memories would sway you,
Stir your feet to lightsomeness.

Moon fell at the feet of morning,
Loosened from the night's fading necklace.
While you slept, O did my Vina
Lull you with its heartache? Did you
Dream at least of happiness?

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Unyielding
,
780:SUPPOSING I became a champa flower, just for fun, and grew on a branch high up that tree, and shook in the wind with laughter and danced upon the newly budded leaves, would you know me, mother?

You would call, "Baby, where are you?" and I should laugh to myself and keep quite quiet.

I should slyly open my petals and watch you at your work.

When after your bath, with wet hair spread on your shoulders, you walked through the shadow of the champa tree to the little court where you say your prayers, you would notice the scent of the flower, but not know that it came from me.

When after the midday meal you sat at the window reading Ramayana, and the tree's shadow fell over your hair and your lap, I should fling my wee little shadow on to the page of your book, just where you were reading.

But would you guess that it was the tiny shadow of your little child?

When in the evening you went to the cow-shed with the lighted lamp in your hand, I should suddenly drop on to the earth again and be your own baby once more, and beg you to tell me a story.

"Where have you been, you naughty child?"

"I won't tell you, mother." That's what you and I would say then.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Champa Flower
,
781:You left me and went on your way.
  I thought I should mourn for you
and set your solitary image in my
heart wrought in a golden song.
  But ah, my evil fortune, time is
short.
  Youth wanes year after year; the
spring days are fugitive; the frail
flowers die for nothing, and the wise
man warns me that life is but a
dewdrop on the lotus leaf.
  Should I neglect all this to gaze after
one who has turned her back on me?
  That would be rude and foolish,
for time is short.
  Then, come, my rainy nights with
pattering feet; smile, my golden
autumn; come, careless April, scatter-
ing your kisses abroad.
  You come, and you, and you also!
  My loves, you know we are mortals.
Is it wise to break one's heart for the
one who takes her heart away? For
time is short.
  It is sweet to sit in a corner to muse
and write in rhymes that you are all
my world.
  It is heroic to hug one's sorrow and
determine not to be consoled.
  But a fresh face peeps across my
door and raise its eyes to my eyes.
  I cannot but wipe away my tears
and change the tune of my song.
  For time is short.
  
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XLVI - You Left Me
,
782:Hands cling to hands and eyes linger
on eyes: thus begins the record of our
hearts.
  It is the moonlit night of March;
the sweet smell of henna is in the air;
my flute lies on the earth neglected
and your garland of flowers is
unfinished.
  This love between you and me is
simple as a song.
  Your veil of the saffron colour
makes my eyes drunk.
  The jasmine wreath that you wove
me thrills to my heart like praise.
  It is a game of giving and with-
holding, revealing and screening again;
some smiles and some little shyness,
and some sweet useless struggles.
  This love between you and me is
simple as a song.
  No mystery beyond the present;
no striving for the impossible; no
shadow behind the charm; no groping
in the depth of the dark.
  This love between you and me is
simple as a song.
  We do not stray out of all words
into the ever silent; we do not raise
our hands to the void for things
beyond hope.
  It is enough what we give and we
get.
  We have not crushed the joy to
the utmost to wring from it the wine
of pain.
  This love between you and me is
simple as a song.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XVI - Hands Cling To Eyes
,
783:When God finished his work of creation
In the vast blue sky
All the stars began to shine.
In the milky way
With this new world in their front
All the gods sat in rows and began to sing,
O what joy! What perfection!
A great piece of music, in perfect rhythm -
These planets, this moon and this sun!

But someone from the assembly
Suddenly told,
From this string of lights
A star seems to have fallen down!
The strings of the lyre snapped
And the music came to a stop,
A quest began to find out
Where the lost star had gone.
Everybody said,
It was the star which brightened the heavens most
It was the biggest and the best.

From then on has been going on
This quest for this star which has been lost
Day and night there is no rest.
Everybody says,
Among all the stars
We have got to find out
This particular star.
Without it the entire world has become dark.
But in the dead of night the silent stars
Smiling silently say among themselves,
This search is useless
For all the stars are there!
Transcreation of the poem Haradhan from the collection Kheya (The Ferry) by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Lost Star
,
784:On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead
And the restless water is boisterous.
On the seashore of endless worlds
The children meet with shouts and dances.

They build their houses with sand,
And they play with empty shells.
With withered leaves they weave
Their boats and smilingly float them
On the vast deep.
Children have their play on the
Seashore of worlds.

They know not how to swim,
They know not how to cast nets.
Pearl-fishers dive for pearls,
Merchants sail in their ships,
While children gather pebbles
And scatter them again.
They seek not for hidden treasures,
They know not how to cast nets.

The sea surges up with laughter,
And pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.
Death-dealing waves sing
Meaningless ballads to the children,
Even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with children,
And pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
Tempest roams in the pathless sky,
Ships are wrecked in the trackless water,
Death is abroad and children play.
On the seashore of endless worlds is the
Great meeting of children.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, On The Seashore
,
785:When the gong sounds ten in the morning and I walk to school by our
lane.
  Every day I meet the hawker crying, "Bangles, crystal
bangles!"
  There is nothing to hurry him on, there is no road he must
take, no place he must go to, no time when he must come home.
  I wish I were a hawker, spending my day in the road, crying,
"Bangles, crystal bangles!"
  When at four in the afternoon I come back from the school,
  I can see through the gate of that house the gardener digging
the ground.
  He does what he likes with his spade, he soils his clothes
with dust, nobody takes him to task if he gets baked in the sun or
gets wet.
  I wish I were a gardener digging away at the garden with
nobody to stop me from digging.
  Just as it gets dark in the evening and my mother sends me to
bed,
  I can see through my open window the watchman walking up and
down.
  The lane is dark and lonely, and the street-lamp stands like
a giant with one red eye in its head.
  The watchman swings his lantern and walks with his shadow at
his side, and never once goes to bed in his life.
  I wish I were a watchman walking the streets all night,
chasing the shadows with my lantern.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Vocation
,
786:I know, this day will come to an end
At the end of the day
Wanly smiling
The dying sun will look at my face
Bidding me its last farewell.
The flute will play by the side of the way
The cattle will graze on the banks of the river
In the courtyard the children will play
And the birds will sing -
Still the day will come to an end.

To you I only pray
Before I go let me know
Looking at the sky
Why mother earth so green
Gave me a call
Why the silence of the night
Told me the stories of the stars
Why the lights of the day
Raised waves in my mind
This is what I pray.

When on this earth
The game of my life will be over
In a harmony may I stop my song
May I fill with fruits and flowers
The trays of the seasons.
May I see you in the light of my life
And give you my garland
When I shall end my days on this earth.
Transcreation of the devotional song Jani go din jabe e din jabe from the collection Gitalekha 3 by Rabindranath Tagore. Its notation is to be found in Swarabitan number 41. There is a good recording of this song is by Arghya Sen. The original is in the Bengali language, transcreated into English by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, At The End Of The Day
,
787:"Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?" the baby asked
its mother.
  She answered, half crying, half laughing, and clasping the
baby to her breast-
  "You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.
  You were in the dolls of my childhood's games; and when with
clay I made the image of my god every morning, I made the unmade
you then.
  You were enshrined with our household deity, in his worship
I worshipped you.
  In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, in the life of my
mother you have lived.
  In the lap of the deathless Spirit who rules our home you have
been nursed for ages.
  When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals, you hovered
as a fragrance about it.
  Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs, like a glow
in the sky before the sunrise.
  Heaven's first darling, twain-born with the morning light, you
have floated down the stream of the world's life, and at last you
have stranded on my heart.
  As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me; you who belong
to all have become mine.
  For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What
magic has snared the world's treasure in these slender arms of
mine?"

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Beginning
,
788: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 dragged 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, ties 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.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Rainy Day
,
789:THE tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.
      They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.
      The free bird cries, "O my love, let us fly to the wood."
      The cage bird whispers, "Come hither, let us both live in the cage."
      Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?"
      "Alas," cries the caged bird, "I should not know where to sit perched in the sky."
    
      The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands."
      The cage bird sings, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned."
      The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be taught."
      The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands."
    
      There love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.
      Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other.
      They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my love!"
      The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage."
      The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead."


~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Tame Bird Was In A Cage
,
790:I was walking by the road, I do not
know why, when the noonday was past
and bamboo branches rustled in the
wind.
  The prone shadows with their out-
stretched arms clung to the feet of
the hurrying light.
  The koels were weary of their
songs.
  I was walking by the road, I do not
know why.
  The hut by the side of the water is
shaded by an overhanging tree.
  Some on was busy with her work,
and her bangles made music in the
corner.
  I stood before this hut, I know not
why.
  The narrow winding road crosses
many a mustard field, and many a
mango forest.
  It passes by the temple of the
village and the market at the river
landing-place.
  I stopped by this hut, I do not know
why.
  Years ago it was a day of breezy
March when the murmur of the spring
was languorous, and mango blossoms
were dropping on the dust.
  The rippling water leapt and licked
the brass vessel that stood on the
landing-step.
  I think of that day of breezy March,
I do not know why.
  Shadows are deepening and cattle
returning to their folds.
  The light is grey upon the lonely
meadows, and the villagers are waiting
for the ferry at the bank.
  I slowly return upon my steps, I
do not know why.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XIV - I Was Walking By The Road
,
791:If baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment.
  It is not for nothing that he does not leave us.
  He loves to rest his head on mother's bosom, and cannot ever
bear to lose sight of her.
  Baby know all manner of wise words, though few on earth can
understand their meaning.
  It is not for nothing that he never wants to speak.
  The one thing he wants is to learn mother's words from
mother's lips. That is why he looks so innocent.
  Baby had a heap of gold and pearls, yet he came like a beggar
on to this earth.
  It is not for nothing he came in such a disguise.
  This dear little naked mendicant pretends to be utterly
helpless, so that he may beg for mother's wealth of love.
  Baby was so free from every tie in the land of the tiny
crescent moon.
  It was not for nothing he gave up his freedom.
  He knows that there is room for endless joy in mother's little
corner of a heart, and it is sweeter far than liberty to be caught
and pressed in her dear arms.
  Baby never knew how to cry. He dwelt in the land of perfect
bliss.
  It is not for nothing he has chosen to shed tears.
  Though with the smile of his dear face he draws mother's
yearning heart to him, yet his little cries over tiny troubles
weave the double bond of pity and love.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Babys Way
,
792:Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.
  If your braided hair has loosened if
the parting of your hair be not straight,
if the ribbons of your bodice be not
fastened, do not mind.
  Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.
  Come, with quick steps over the
grass.
  If the raddle come from your feet
because of the dew, of the rings of bells
upon your feet slacken, if pearls drop
out of your chain, do not mind.
  Come, with quick steps over the
grass.
  Do you see the clouds wrapping the
sky?
  Flocks of cranes fly up from the
further river-bank and fitful gusts of
wind rush over the heath.
  The anxious cattle run to their stalls
in the village.
  Do you see the clouds wrapping the
sky?
  In vain you light your toilet lamp
it flickers and goes out in the
wind.
  Who can know that your eyelids
have not been touched with lamp-
black? For your eyes are darker
than rain-clouds.
  In vain you light your toilet lamp
it goes out.
  Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.
  If the wreath is not woven, who
cares; if the wrist-chain had not been
linked, let it be.
  The sky is overcast with cloudsit
is late.
  Come as you are; do not loiter over
your toilet.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XI - Come As You Are
,
793:Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
  The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
  Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
  What has happened to you that you look so strange?
  Haven't you got a letter from father today?
  I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
  Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
  But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
  Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
  I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
  I shall write from A right up to K.
  But, mother, why do you smile?
  You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
  But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
  When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
  I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
  I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Wicked Postman
,
794:If people came to know where my king's palace is, it would vanish
into the air.
  The walls are of white silver and the roof of shining gold.
  The queen lives in a palace with seven courtyards, and she
wears a jewel that cost all the wealth of seven kingdoms.
  But let me tell you, mother, in a whisper, where my king's
palace is.
  It is at the corner of our terrace where the pot of the tulsi
plant stands.
  The princess lies sleeping on the far-away shore of the seven
impassable seas.
  There is none in the world who can find her but myself.
  She has bracelets on her arms and pearl drops in her ears; her
hair sweeps down upon the floor.
  She will wake when I touch her with my magic wand and jewels
will fall from her lips when she smiles.
  But let me whisper in your ear, mother; she is there in the
corner of our terrace where the pot of the tulsi plant stands.
  When it is time for you to go to the river for your bath, step
up to that terrace on the roof.
  I sit in the corner where the shadow of the walls meet
together.
  Only puss is allowed to come with me, for she know where the
barber in the story lives.
  But let me whisper, mother, in your ear where the barber in
the story lives.
  It is at the corner of the terrace where the pot of the tulsi
plant stands.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Fairyland
,
795:You say that father write a lot of books, but what he writes I don't
understand.
  He was reading to you all evening, but could you really
make out what he meant?
  What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can't father
write like that, I wonder?
  Did he never hear from his own mother stories of giants and
fairies and princesses?
  Has he forgotten them all?
  Often when he gets late for his bath you have to call him
a hundred times.
  You wait and keep his dishes warm for him, but he goes on
writing and forgets.
  Father always plays at making books.
  If ever I go to play in father's room, you come and call me,
"What a naughty child!"
  If I make the slightest noise you say, "Don't you see that
father's at his work?"
  What's the fun of always writing and writing?
  When I take up father's pen or pencil and write upon his book
just as he does,-a,b,c,d,e,f,g,h,i,-why do you get cross with me
then, mother?
  You never say a word when father writes.
  When my father wastes such heaps of paper, mother, you don't
seem to mind at all.
  But if I take only one sheet to make a boat with, you say,
"Child, how troublesome you are!"
  What do you think of father's spoiling sheets and sheets of
paper with black marks all over both sides?
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Authorship
,
796:Thou who art the innermost Spirit of my being,
art thou pleased, Lord of my Life?
For I give to thee my cup filled with all
the pain and delight that the crushed
grapes of my heart had surrendered,
I wove with rhythm of colors and song cover for thy bed,
And with the molten gold of my desires
I fashioned playthings for thy passing hours.
I know not why thou chosest me for thy partner,
Lord of my life.

Didst thou store my days and nights,
my deeds and dreams for the alchemy of thy art,
and string in the chain of thy music my songs of autumn and spring,
and gather the flowers from my mature moments for thy crown?

I see thine eyes gazing at the dark of my heart,
Lord of my life,
I wonder if my failure and wrongs are forgiven.
For many were my days without service
and nights of forgetfulness; futile were the flowers
that faded in the shade not offered to thee.

Often the tied strings of my lute slackened
at the strains of thy tunes.
And often at the ruin of wasted hours
my desolate evenings were filled with tears.

But have my days come to their end at last,
Lord of my life, while my arms round thee
grow limp, my kisses losing their truth?
Then break up the meeting of this languid day!
Renew the old in me in fresh forms of delight;
and let the wedding come once again in
a new ceremony of life.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lord Of My Life
,
797:Clouds rumbling in the sky; teeming rain.
I sit on the river bank, sad and alone.
The sheaves lie gathered, harvest has ended,
The river is swollen and fierce in its flow.
As we cut the paddy it started to rain.

One small paddy-field, no one but me -
Flood-waters twisting and swirling everywhere.
Trees on the far bank; smear shadows like ink
On a village painted on deep morning grey.
On this side a paddy-field, no one but me.

Who is this, steering close to the shore
Singing? I feel that she is someone I know.
The sails are filled wide, she gazes ahead,
Waves break helplessly against the boat each side.
I watch and feel I have seen her face before.

Oh to what foreign land do you sail?
Come to the bank and moor your boat for a while.
Go where you want to, give where you care to,
But come to the bank a moment, show your smile -
Take away my golden paddy when you sail.

Take it, take as much as you can load.
Is there more? No, none, I have put it aboard.
My intense labour here by the river -
I have parted with it all, layer upon layer;
Now take me as well, be kind, take me aboard.

No room, no room, the boat is too small.
Loaded with my gold paddy, the boat is full.
Across the rain-sky clouds heave to and fro,
On the bare river-bank, I remain alone -
What had has gone: the golden boat took all.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Golden Boat
,
798:Let your work be, bride. Listen, the
guest has come.
  Do you hear, he is gently shaking
the chain which fastens the door?
  See that your anklets make no loud
noise, and that your step is not over-
hurried at meeting him.
  Let your work be, bride, the guest
had come in the evening.
  No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.
  It is the full moon on a night of
April; shadows are pale in the court-
yard; the sky overhead is bright.
  Draw your veil over your face if
you must, carry the lamp to the door
if you fear.
  No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.
  Have no word with him if you are
shy; stand aside by the door when you
meet him.
  If he asks you questions, and if
you wish to, you can lower you eyes
in silence.
  Do not let your bracelets jingle
when, lamp in hand, you lead him in.
  Have no words with him if your are
shy.
  Have you not finished you work yet,
bride? Listen, the guest has come.
  Have you not lit the lamp in the
cowshed?
  Have you not got ready the offering
basket for the evening service?
  Have you not put the red lucky
mark at the parting of your hair, and
done your toilet for the night?
  O bride, do you hear, the guest has
come?
  Let your work be!


~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener X - Let Your Work Be, Bride
,
799:I shall gladly suffer the pride of culture to die out in my house,
if only in some happy future I am born a herd-boy in the Brinda
forest.
  The herd-boy who grazes his cattle sitting under the banyan
tree, and idly weaves gunja flowers into garlands, who loves to
splash and plunge in the Jamuna's cool deep stream.
  He calls his companions to wake up when morning dawns, and all
the houses in the lane hum with the sound of the churn, clouds of
dust are raised by the cattle, the maidens come out in the
courtyard to milk the king.
  As the shadows deepen under the tomal trees, and the dusk
gathers on the river-banks; when the milkmaids, while crossing the
turbulent water, tremble with fear; and loud peacocks, with tails
outspread, dance in the forest, he watchers the summer clouds.
  When the April night is sweet as a fresh-blown flower, he
disappears in the forest with a peacock's plume in his hair; the
swing ropes are twined with flowers on the branches; the south wind
throbs with music, and the merry shepherd boys crowd on the banks
of the blue river.
  No, I will never be the leader, brothers, of this new age of
new Bengal; I shall not trouble to light the lamp of culture for
the benighted. If only I could be born, under the shady asoka
groves, in some village of Brinda, where milk is churned by the
maidens!

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XXII - I Shall Gladly Suffer
,
800:I have made you the pole star of my life
I shall never lose my way in this sea.
Wherever I go
You always shine in my view
And shed light from your anxious eyes.
Secretly in my mind
Your image is always alive
I lose my bearings
When I lose your sight
When my heart wants to stray
Along a wrong way
Your remembrance fills it with shame.
Standard translation
I have made You the polar star of my
existence; never again can I lose my way in the
voyage of life.

Wherever I go, You are always there to
shower your benefience all around me. Your face
is ever present before my mind's eyes.

If I lose sight of You even for a moment, I
almost lose my mind.

Whenever my heart is about to go astray, just
a glance of You makes it feel ashamed of itself.
Transcreation of the famous love song Tomarei koriachhi jibaner dhrubatara by Rabindranath Tagore. A recording of this song by Dwijen Mukherji is available.
Originally transformed into a devotional song or brahmo sangit from a small dedicatory verse addressed to the poets notun-bouthan (new sister-in-law), Kadambaridevi, the wife of his elder brother Jyotirindranath, it is now classified as a love song. Young Narendranath Dutta, a reputed singer who became Swami Vivekananda later in his life, once sang this song under the direction of the poet himself. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, My Pole Star
,
801:In the village they call her the dark girl
but to me she is the flower Krishnakali
On a cloudy day in a field
I saw the dark girl's dark gazelle-eyes.
She had no covering on her head,
her loose hair had fallen on her back.

Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelleeyes.

Two black cows were lowing,
as it grew dark under the heavy clouds.
So with anxious, hurried steps,
the dark girl came from her hut.
Raising her eyebrows toward the sky,
she listened a moment to the clouds' rumble.

Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.

A gust of the east wind
rippled the rice plants.
I was standing by a ridge,
alone in the field.
Whether or not she looked at me
Is known only to us two.

Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.

This how the Kohldark cloud
rises in the northeast in Jaistha;
the soft dark shadow
descends on the Tamal grove in Asharh;
and sudden delight floods the heart
in the night of Sravan.

Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.

To me she is the flower Krishnakali,
whatever she may be called by others.
In a field in Maynapara village
I saw the dark girl's dark gazelle-eyes.
She did not cover her head,
not having the time to feel embarrassed.

Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Krishnakali
,
802:It is time for me to go, mother; I am going.
  When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch out
your arms for your baby in the bed, I shall say, "Baby is not
here!"-mother, I am going.
  I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you and
I shall be ripples in the water when you bathe, and kiss you and
kiss you again.
  In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you
will hear my whisper in your bed, and my laughter will flash with
the lightning through the open window into your room.
  If you lie awake, thinking of your baby till late into the
night, I shall sing to you from the stars, "Sleep, mother, sleep."
  One the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed, and
lie upon your bosom while you sleep.
  I shall become a dream, and through the little opening of your
eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep; and when you
wake up and look round startled, like a twinkling firefly I shall
flit out into the darkness.
  When, on the great festival of puja, the neighbours' children
come and play about the house, I shall melt into the music of the
flute and throb in your heart all day.
  Dear auntie will come with puja-presents and will ask,"Where
is our baby, sister?" Mother, you will tell her softly, "He is in
the pupils of my eyes, he is in my body and in my soul."
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The End
,
803:WE are to play the game of death to-night, my bride and I.
            The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious, and the waves are raving at sea.
            We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come out, my bride and I.
            We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind.
            My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and clings to my breast.
            Long have I served her tenderly.
            I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes.
            I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her ears till she half swooned in languor.
            She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness.
            She answered not to my touch, my songs failed to arouse her.
            To-night has come to us the call of the storm from the wild.
            My bride has shivered and stood up, she has clasped my hand and come out.
            Her hair is flying in the wind, her veil is fluttering, her garland rustles over her breast.
            The push of death has swung her into life.
            We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I.


~ Rabindranath Tagore, We Are To Play The Game Of Death
,
804: Two of us once met
Where the streams of life and death had stopped
Where time stood still.
Today it is so far and away
Now I am sailing alone
My boat is rocking in the storm
I now remember again
How once we met
At the end of the world
Where had descended the heaven.

Forgetting all
We sat there side by side
That day I realized
What sways the blades of grass
Throughout the world
In what delight everything shivers;
In the dark how shine stars;
In what great urge
The breaths of life rush
That day I realized
When we woke up and looked at each others face.

Taking your hand in my hand
I kept looking at the sky
We had no words
And didnt know how our time passed
That day I had realized in my heart of hearts
Where end the meanings of our words
How music rises from the core of the universe
How the pining woods blossom into flowers
These we realized when both of us wept
In endless pleasure.

Then we came to know in what fire
Silently burn the winds of spring
Why the morning sun
Yearns to get lost in everything
Why day and night the river runs
To meet the sea
Why the lightning is hurt by its own light
What game the night plays with dawn
Accepting defeat
All these we realized
When with each other we played
Staking our everything.

This is a new transcreation of Tagore's poem Milon from the collection Purabi by
Kumud Biswas.

0
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Our Meeting
,
805:I am small because I am a little child. I shall be big when I am
as old as my father is.
  My teacher will come and say, "It is late, bring your slate
and your books."
  I shall tell him, " Do you not know I am as big as father? And
I must not have lessons any more."
  My master will wonder and say, "He can leave his books if he
likes, for he is grown up."
  I shall dress myself and walk to the fair where the crowd is
thick.
  My uncle will come rushing up to me and say, "You will get
lost, my boy; let me carry you."
  I shall answer, "Can't you see, uncle, I am as big as father?
I must go to the fair alone."
  Uncle will say, "Yes, he can go wherever he likes, for he is
grown up."
  Mother will come from her bath when I am giving money to my
nurse, for I shall know how to open the box with my key.
  Mother will say, "What are you about, naughty child?"
  I shall tell her, "Mother, don't you know, I am as big as
father, and I must give silver to my nurse."
  Mother will say to herself, "He can give money to whom he
likes, for he is grown up."
  In the holiday time in October father will come home and,
thinking that I am still a baby, will bring for me from the town
little shoes and small silken frocks.
  I shall say, "Father, give them to my data, for I am as big
as you are."
  Father will think and say, "He can buy his own clothes if he
likes, for he is grown up."

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Little Big Man
,
806:Ah, who was it coloured that little frock, my child, and covered
your sweet limbs with that little red tunic?
  You have come out in the morning to play in the courtyard,
tottering and tumbling as you run.
  But who was it coloured that little frock, my child?
  What is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?
  Mother smiles at you standing on the threshold.
  She claps her hands and her bracelets jingle, and you dance
with your bamboo stick in your hand like a tiny little shepherd.
  But what is it makes you laugh, my little life-bud?
  O beggar, what do you bed for, clinging to your mother's neck
with both your hands?
  O greedy heart, shall I pluck the world like a fruit from the
sky to place it on your little rosy palm?
  O beggar, what are you begging for?
  The wind carries away in glee the tinkling of your anklet
bells.
  The sun smiles and watches your toilet.
  The sky watches over you when you sleep in your mother's arms,
and the morning comes tiptoe to your bed and kisses your eyes.
  The wind carried away in glee the tinkling of your anklet
bells.
  The fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying
through the twilight sky.
  The world-mother keeps her seat by you in your mother's heart.
  He who plays his music to the stars is standing at your window
with his flute.
  And the fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you, flying
through the twilight sky.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Unheeded Pageant
,
807:She is near to my heart as the meadow-flower to the earth; she is
sweet to me as sleep is to tired limbs. My love for her is my life
flowing in its fullness, like a river in autumn flood, running with
serene abandonment. My songs are one with my love, like the murmur
of a stream, that sings with all its waves and current.

Like (1) 0
Stray Birds 91 - 99
91

THE great earth makes herself hospitable

with the help of the grass.

92

THE birth and death of the leaves

are the rapid whirls of the eddy

whose wider circles

move slowly among stars.

93

POWER said to the world, "You are mine.

The world kept it prisoner on her throne.

Love said to the world, "I am thine."

The world gave it the freedom of her house.

94

THE mist is like the earth's desire.

It hides the sun for whom she cries.

95

BE still,

my heart,

these great trees are prayers.

96

THE noise of the moment

scoffs at the music of the Eternal.

97

I THINK of other ages

that floated upon the stream of life

and love and death and are forgotten,

and I feel the freedom of passing away.

98

THE sadness of my soul is her bride's veil.

It waits to be lifted in the night.

99

DEATH'S stamp gives value to the coin of life;

making it possible to buy with life what is truly precious.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts IV - She Is Near To My Heart
,
808:Are you a mere picture, and not as true as those stars, true as
this dust? They throb with the pulse of things, but you are
immensely aloof in your stillness, painted form.
  The day was when you walked with me, your breath warm, your
limbs singing of life. My world found its speech in your voice, and
touched my heart with your face. You suddenly stopped in your walk,
in the shadow-side of the Forever, and I went on alone.
  Life, like a child, laughs, shaking its rattle of death as it
runs; it beckons me on, I follow the unseen; but you stand there,
where you stopped behind that dust and those stars; and you are a
mere picture.
  No, it cannot be. Had the life-flood utterly stopped in you,
it would stop the river in its flow, and the foot-fall of dawn in
her cadence of colours. Had the glimmering dusk of your hair
vanished in the hopeless dark, the woodland shade of summer would
die with its dreams.
  Can it be true that I forgot you? We haste on without heed,
forgetting the flowers on the roadside hedge. Yet they breathe
unaware into our forgetfulness, filling it with music. You have
moved from my world, to take seat at the root of my life, and
therefore is this forgetting-remembrance lost in its own depth.
  You are no longer before my songs, but one with them. You came
to me with the first ray of dawn. I lost you with the last gold of
evening. Ever since I am always finding you through the dark. No,
you are no mere picture.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts XLII - Are You A Mere Picture
,
809:My darling
Everybody is blaming me for you!
They are saying,
In all his songs
Her picture he is painting
In her ears
He is singing only love songs
Because of his addiction
He is composing
Frivolous words into poesy
And all over the land at the top of his voice
He is raving and shouting.
My darling
For you only me they are blaming.

My queen
With the blots of these scandals
I have smeared my forehead
Hoping
You will remove them smiling,
Who cares if they go on carping
If you protect me with your arms
And in your embrace go on sheltering.

Once I had a fancy to compose an epic
But by a sudden touch of your bangles
It burst into thousand songs
As a result of that accident
That epic is lying at my feet in smithereens.

Alas, those stories of wars and heroes
In as many as eight long cantos
Where have they gone!
Attacked by the chopper of your glances
All of them disappeared like dreams.

My doe-eyed darling,
I have kept an eye on my compensation
In the minds of men
I dont care to remain enthroned
If you condescend to give me
The key to your dear hearts bedroom.
After I am dead and gone
I dont want to be immortal
Only in your love
I would like to be eternal.
My doe-eyed darling
Ignoring my posthumous reputation
I have kept an eye on my compensation.
Transcreation of the poem Kshatipuran from the collection Kshanika by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Compensation
,
810:At dawn shey(1) departed
My mind tried to console me -
" Everything is Maya(2)".
Angrily I replied:
"Here's this sewing box on the table,
that flower-pot on the terrace,
this monogrammed hand-fan on the bed---
all these are real."

My mind said: "Yet, think again."
I rejoined: " You better stop.
Look at this storybook,
the hairpin halfway amongst its leaves,
signaling the rest is unread;
if all these things are "Maya",
then why should "shey" be more unreal?"

My mind becomes silent.
A friend arrived and says:
"That which is good is real
it is never non-existent;
entire world preserves and cherishes it its chest
like a precious jewel in a necklace."

I replied in anger: "How do you know?
Is a body not good? Where did that body go?"

Like a small boy in a rage hitting his mother,
I began to strike at everything in this world
that gave me shelter.
And I screamed:" The world is treacherous."

Suddenly, I was startled.
It seemed like someone admonished me :" You- ungrateful ! "

I looked at the crescent moon
hidden behind the tamarisk tree outside my window.
As if the dear departed one is smiling
and playing hide-and-seek with me.

From the depth of darkness punctuated by scattered stars
came a rebuke: "when I let you grasp me you call it an deception,
and yet when I remain concealed,
why do you hold on to your faith in me with such conviction?"
(1): "Shey" in Bengali can mean either he or she.
(2): "Maya" meaning Unreal.
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Ungrateful Sorrow
,
811:The kid asks his mum,
From where did I come,
Me where did you find?
Holding him tight in an embrace
In tears and laughter
The mum replies,
You were in my mind
As my deepest wish.
You were with me
When I was a child
And played with my dolls.
When worshiping Shiva in the morning
I made and unmade you every moment.
You were with my deity on the altar
And with him I worshipped you too.
You were in my hopes and desires,
You were in my love,
And in the hearts of my mum and grand mum.
I dont know how long
You kept yourself hiding
In our age old home
In the lap of the goddess of our family.
When I bloomed like a flower in my youth
You were in me like its sweet smell
With your softness and sweetness
You were in my every limb.
You are the darling of all gods
You are eternal yet new
You are of the same age as the morning sun
From a universal dream
To me you came floating
On the floods of joy
That eternally flows in this world.
Staring at you in wonder
I fail to unfold your mystery
How could one come only to me
Who belongs to all?
Embracing your body with my body
You have come to this world as my kid.
So I clasp you tightly in my breast
And cry when you are away for a moment
I always remain in fear I may lose
One who is the darling of the world.
I dont know how shall I keep you
Binding in what magic bond.
Transcreation of the poem 'Janmkatha' from the collection Shishu by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Birth Story
,
812:A hundred years hence
Who it is
With such curiosity
Reads my poems
A hundred years hence!
Shall I be able to send you
An iota of joy of this fresh spring morning
The flower that blooms today
The songs that the birds sing
The glow of todays setting sun
Filled with my feelings of love?

Yet for a moment
Open up your southern gate
And take your seat at the window
Look at the far horizon
And visualize in your minds eye
One day a hundred years ago
A restless ecstasy drifted from the skies
And touched the heart of this world
The early spring mad with joy
Knew no bounds
Spreading its restless wings
The southern breeze blew
Carrying the scent of flowers pollen
All on a sudden soon
They coloured the world with a youthful glow
A hundred years ago.
That day a young poet kept awake
With an excited heart filled with songs
With so much ardour
Anxious to express so many things
Like buds of flowers straining to bloom
One day a hundred years ago.

A hundred years hence
What young poet
Sings songs in your homes!
For him
I send my tidings of joy of this spring.
Let it echo for a moment
In your spring, in your heartbeats,
In the humming of the bees
In the rustling of the leaves
A hundred years hence.
A transcreation of the poem 1400 Sal (The year 1400) from the collection Chitra by Rabindranath Tagore.
It was written on the 2nd of Falgun (first month of spring), 1302 (1895-96), of the Bengali calendar. Translated by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, A Hundred Years Hence
,
813:Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me
  "We play from the time we wake till the day ends.
  We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon."
  I ask, "But how am I to get up to you ?"
  They answer, "Come to the edge of the earth, lift up your
hands to the sky, and you will be taken up into the clouds."
  "My mother is waiting for me at home, "I say, "How can I leave
her and come?"
  Then they smile and float away.
  But I know a nicer game than that, mother.
  I shall be the cloud and you the moon.
  I shall cover you with both my hands, and our house-top will
be the blue sky.
  The folk who live in the waves call out to me
  "We sing from morning till night; on and on we travel and know
not where we pass."
  I ask, "But how am I to join you?"
  They tell me, "Come to the edge of the shore and stand with
your eyes tight shut, and you will be carried out upon the waves."
  I say, "My mother always wants me at home in the evening*
how can I leave her and go?"
  They smile, dance and pass by.
  But I know a better game than that.
  I will be the waves and you will be a strange shore.
  I shall roll on and on and on, and break upon your lap with
laughter.
  And no one in the world will know where we both are.
*This word "evening" is an editing of the original post. Across the web, it seems, it was mistakenly replaced with "everything," but this is not the case on p.28 of Tagore's own translation of his book The Crescent Moon - Child-Poems.
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Clouds And Waves
,
814:Who is obsessed by religion
He is blind
He only kills and gets killed.
Even an atheist is blessed
Because he doesnt have the vanity of any faith.
Humbly he lights up his reason
Defies the authority of scriptures
And seeks only the good of men.

He who kills as infidels
The followers of other faiths
Dishonours his own faith
He kills the son in the name of the father
Busy only with the rituals
He loses his reason
He hoists a blood-stained flag in his temple
In the name of God
He worships the Devil.

Those who have retained in their creed
The shame of ages, the cruelties and barbarities
With those rubbish
They are building their own prison
I hear a bugle is blowing
The bugle of universal doom
With his scythe the god of destruction is coming.

Planting him as a stake who comes to liberate
Putting him up like a dividing wall who comes to unite
Flooding the world with poison in his name
Who brings love from a divine source
They drown sailing in a boat they themselves have scuttled
Yet they blame someone else!

I invoke you O you the supreme judge
Please come to end this degeneration of religion
Save those who are deluded by their faith.
Your altar they have flooded with blood
Please completely break it
Hurl your thunder at the prison walls of faiths
And bring to this cursed land
The light of reason.
This transcreation of Tagore's poem Dharmamoha is by Kumud Biswas.
The original is from the collection Parishesh.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Religious Obsession -- translation from Dharmamoha
,
815:Ah me, why did they build my
house by the road to the market
town?
  They moor their laden boats near
my trees.
  They come and go and wander at
their will.
  I sit and watch them; my time
wears on.
  Turn them away I cannot. And
thus my days pass by.
  Night and day their steps sound
by my door.
  Vainly I cry, "I do not know
you."
  Some of them are known to my
fingers, some to my nostrils, the
blood in my veins seems to know
them, and some are known to my
dreams.
  Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and say, "Come to my house
whoever chooses. Yes, come."
  In the morning the bell rings in the
temple.
  They come with their baskets in
their hands.
  Their feet are rosy red. The early
light of dawn is on their faces.
  Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and I say, "Come to my garden
to gather flowers. Come hither."
  In the mid-day the gong sounds
at the palace gate.
  I know not why they leave their
work and linger near my hedge.
  The flowers in their hair are pale
and faded; the notes are languid in
their flutes.
  Turn them away I cannot. I call
them and say, "The shade is cool
under my trees. Come, friends."
  At night the crickets chirp in the
woods.
  Who is it that comes slowly to my
door and gently knocks?
  I vaguely see the face, not a word
is spoken, the stillness of the sky is
all around.
  Turn away my silent guest I
cannot. I look at the face through the
dark, and hours of dreams pass by.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener IV - Ah Me
,
816:The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs;
and the flowers were all merry by the roadside;
and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds
while we busily went on our way and paid no heed.

We sang no glad songs nor played;
we went not to the village for barter;
we spoke not a word nor smiled;
we lingered not on the way.
We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.

The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade.
Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon.
The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree,
and I laid myself down by the water
and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.

My companions laughed at me in scorn;
they held their heads high and hurried on;
they never looked back nor rested;
they vanished in the distant blue haze.

They crossed many meadows and hills,
and passed through strange, far-away countries.
All honor to you, heroic host of the interminable path!
Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise,
but found no response in me.

I gave myself up for lost
in the depth of a glad humiliation
-in the shadow of a dim delight.

The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom
slowly spread over my heart.
I forgot for what I had traveled,
and I surrendered my mind without struggle
to the maze of shadows and songs.

At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes,
I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile.
How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome,
and the struggle to reach thee was hard!

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Journey
,
817:I long to go over there to the further bank of the river.
  Where those boats are tied to the bamboo poles in a line;
  Where men cross over in their boats in the morning with
ploughs on their shoulders to till their far-away fields;
  Where the cowherds make their lowing cattle swim across to the
riverside pasture;
  Whence they all come back home in the evening, leaving the
jackals to howl in the island overgrown with weeds.
  Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferry when I am grown up.
  They say there are strange pools hidden behind that high bank.
  Where flocks of wild ducks come when the rains are over, and
thick reeds grow round the margins where water-birds lay their
eggs;
  Where snipes with their dancing tails stamp their tiny
footprints upon the clean soft mud;
  Where in the evening the tall grasses crested with while
flowers invite the moonbeam to float upon their waves.
  Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferryboat when I am grown up.
  I shall cross and cross back from bank to bank, and all the
boys and girls of the village will wonder at me while they are
bathing.
  When the sun climbs the mid sky and morning wears on to noon,
I shall come running to you, saying, "Mother, I am hungry."
  When the day is done and the shadows cower under the trees,
I shall come back in the dust.
  I shall never go away from you into the town to work like
father.
  Mother, if you don't mind, I should like to become the boatman
of the ferryboat when I am grown up.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Further Bank
,
818:Music is silenced, the dark descending slowly
Has stripped unending skies of all companions.
Weariness grips your limbs and within the locked horizons
Dumbly ring the bells of hugely gathering fears.
Still, O bird, O sightless bird,
Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.
It's not melodious woodlands but the leaps and falls
Of an ocean's drowsy booming,
Not a grove bedecked with flowers but a tumult flecked with foam.
Where is the shore that stored your buds and leaves?
Where the nest and the branch's hold?
Still, O bird, my sightless bird,
Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.

Stretching in front of you the night's immensity
Hides the western hill where sleeps the distant sun;
Still with bated breath the world is counting time and swimming
Across the shoreless dark a crescent moon
Has thinly just appeared upon the dim horizon.
But O my bird, O sightless bird,
Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.
From upper skies the stars with pointing fingers
Intently watch your course and death's impatience
Lashes at you from the deeps in swirling waves;
And sad entreaties line the farthest shore
With hands outstretched and crooning 'Come, O come!'
Still, O bird, O sightless bird,
Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.
All that is past: your fears and loves and hopes;
All that is lost: your words and lamentation;
No longer yours a home nor a bed composed of flowers.
For wings are all you have, and the sky's broadening countryard,
And the dawn steeped in darkness, lacking all direction.
Dear bird, my sightless bird,
Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings!

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Hard Times
,
819:All these I loved
This dancing of the light on the leaves
This playing of the wild winds
Among the sal groves
They have all maddened my mind
Along this red-earth road
That man going to the village market
The little girl sitting on the dust
Playing alone with her tray of toys
Whatever I see before me
They all make music in my eyes.

Mine is only a bamboo flute
And I play only rustic tunes
An earthly bond of this dusty earth
Has bound my mind
I have borrowed my view
From the views of those boys
I have set my tunes
To the tunes of those boys
Who have drunk the lights
Flowing from the blue of the skies.

Whenever I want to go to a far away place
They crowd around me to dissuade
The village sky waving rustic flowers
Beckons me back
I am yet to exhaust whatever is near
And whatever is sweet
So I dont hanker after
Whatever is far
All these titbits
I am yet to find
Their farthest limits
I am yet to finish my songs
Of these ordinary things.

So wherever I go
This only I sing
How much they have pleased
How they have held me in a spell
Day and night I have no time
To do anything else
My eyes are drowned
Drowned is my mind
Dont call me
Its of no use
Let others aim something big
Let them gather more and more
Let me rove
Let me sing
I dont want to be someone big.
Transcreation of the song Eito bhalo legechhilo from the collection Gitapanchashika by Rabindranath Tagore. A recording of this song has been made by Debabrata Biswas. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Sal Groves (line 4) refers to Shorea robusta, the sal tree. It is a species of tree in the family Dipterocarpaceae.
Translated by kumud biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, All These I Loved
,
820:None lives for ever, brother, and
nothing lasts for long. Keep that in
mind and rejoice.
  Our life is not the one old burden,
our path is not the one long
journey.
  One sole poet has not to sing one
aged song.
  The flower fades and dies; but he
who wears the flower has not to
mourn for it for ever.
  Brother, keep that in mind and
rejoice.
  There must come a full pause to
weave perfection into music.
  Life droops toward its sunset to be
drowned in the golden shadows.
  Love must be called from its play
to drink sorrow and be borne to the
heaven of tears.
  Brother, keep that in min and
rejoice.
  We hasten to gather our flowers lest
they are plundered by the passing
winds.
  It quickens our blood and brightens
our eyes to snatch kisses that would
vanish if we delayed.
  Our life is eager, our desires are keen,
for time tolls the bell of parting.
  Brother, keep that in mind and
rejoice.
  There is not time for us to clasp a
thing and crush it and fling it away to
the dust.
  The hours trip rapidly away, hiding
their dreams in their skirts.
  Our life is short; it yields but a
few days for love.
  Were it for work and drudgery it
would be endlessly long.
  Brother, keep that in mind and
rejoice.
  Beauty is sweet to us, because she
dances to the same fleeting tune with
our lives.
  Knowledge is precious to us, because
we shall never have time to
complete it.
  All is done and finished in the eternal
Heaven.
  But earth's flowers of illusion are
kept eternally fresh by death.
  Brother, keep that in mind and
rejoice.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LXVIII - None Lives For Ever, Brother
,
821:Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
  Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch water
from the village near by.
  It was noon. The children's playtime was over; the ducks in
the pond were silent.
  The shepherd boy lay asleep under the shadow of the banyan
tree.
  The crane stood grave and still in the swamp near the mango
grove.
  In the meanwhile the Sleep-stealer came and, snatching sleep
from baby's eyes, flew away.
  When mother came back she found baby travelling the room over
on all fours.
  Who stole sleep from our baby's eyes? I must know. I must find
her and chain her up.
  I must look into that dark cave, where, through boulders and
scowling stones, trickles a tiny stream.
  I must search in the drowsy shade of the bakula grove, where
pigeons coo in their corner, and fairies' anklets tinkle in the
stillness of starry nights.
  In the evening I will peep into the whispering silence of the
bamboo forest, where fireflies squander their light, and will ask
every creature I meet, "Can anybody tell me where the Sleep-stealer
lives?"
  Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
  Shouldn't I give her a good lesson if I could only catch her!
  I would raid her nest and see where she hoards all her stolen
sleep.
  I would plunder it all, and carry it home.
  I would bind her two wings securely, set her on the bank of
the river, and then let her play at fishing with a reed among the
rushes and water-lilies.
  When the marketing is over in the evening, and the village
children sit in their mothers' laps, then the night birds will
mockingly din her ears with:
  "Whose sleep will you steal now?"
  
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Sleep-Stealer
,
822:O mad, superbly drunk;
  If you kick open your doors and
play the fool in public;
  If you empty your bag in a night,
and snap your fingers at prudence;
  If you walk in curious paths and
play with useless things;
  Reck not rhyme or reason;
  If unfurling your sails before the
storm you snap the rudder in two,
  Then I will follow you, comrade,
and be drunken and go to the dogs.
  I have wasted my days and nights
in the company of steady wise neighbours.
  Much knowing has turned my hair
grey, and much watching has made
my sight dim.
  For years I have gathered and
heaped up scraps and fragments of
things:
  Crush them and dance upon them,
and scatter them all to the winds.
  For I know 'tis the height of wisdom
to be drunken and go the dogs.
  Let all crooked scruples vanish,
let me hopelessly lose my way.
  Let a gust of wild giddiness come
and sweep me away from my anchors.
  The world is peopled with worthies,
and workers, useful and clever.
  There are men who are easily first,
and men who come decently after.
  Let them be happy and prosper,
and let me be foolishly futile.
  For I know 'tis the end of all works
to be drunken and go to the dogs.
  I swear to surrender this moment
all claims to the ranks of the decent.
  I let go my pride of learning and
judgment of right and of wrong.
  I'll shatter memory's vessel, scattering
the last drop of tears.
  With the foam of the berry-red
wine I will bathe and brighten my
laughter.
  The badge of the civil and staid
I'll tear into shreds for the nonce.
  I'll take the holy vow to be worthless,
to be drunken and go to the dogs.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener XLII - O Mad, Superbly Drunk
,
823:This morning
What shall I give you, my friend
With my own hand?
A morning song?
The morning tires like a drooping flower
In the scorching sun
Tired, the song also comes to an end.

At the end of the day
What do you want from me,
What can I give you, my friend?
My evening lamp?
It can light up only the corner of a lonely room
You want to take it on your way
Among the crowd?
It will be blown out by the outside wind.

To present you what do I have?
Be it a flower or a necklace
Their burden why will you bear
Knowing it for certain
Someday they will be stale or torn?
Whatever I give you with my own hand
It will slip through your negligent fingers
It will fall on the dust
It will become dust at last.

It is better when you will find some time
And wander in my garden in spring
In an absent mind
You will stop in your track
Startled by an unknown fragrance
It will be your present.
When moving about in my bower
A spell will fall on your eyes
You will suddenly see
In the evening darkness
Vibrates a colorful light
It will give a golden touch to your dreams
That light is unknown
That will be your present.

Whatever is best in me
Only shines in flashes
Suddenly it appears
And disappears in a moment.
It doesnt give out its name
In ringing foot steps it leaves
Thrilling the way with its song.
I dont know how to reach it
However I may stretch out my hands
In whatever words may I call.
My friend,
Whatever you get from there on your own
To your own liking
Without asking, without knowing
That will be your present
Whatever I can give you is trifling
Be it a flower or a song.
A transcreation of poem 10 from the collection Balaka by Rabindranath Tagore. Translation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, My Present
,
824:STRAY birds of summer come to my window

to sing and fly away.

And yellow leaves of autumn,

which have no songs,

flutter and fall there with a sigh.

2

O TROUPE of little vagrants of the world,

leave your footprints in my words.

3

THE world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover.

It becomes small as one song,

as one kiss of the eternal.

4

IT is the tears of the earth

that keep her smiles in bloom.

5

THE mighty desert is burning

for the love of a blade of grass

who shakes her head and laughs

and flies

away.

6

IF you shed tears when you miss the sun,

you also miss the stars.

7

THE sands in your way beg for your song

and your movement,

dancing water.

Will you carry the burden of their lameness?

8

HER wistful face haunts my dreams

like the rain at night.

9

ONCE we dreamt that we were strangers.

We wake up to find that we were dear to each other.

10

SORROW is hushed into peace in my heart

like the evening among the silent trees.
Stray Birds are short poems, short aphorisms which embody Tagore's love of nature and love of simplicity.

The power and beauty of these poems comes from their simplicity. For example the poem below is an example of how Tagore uses the splendour of the universe to inspire and soothe the human spirit.

"IF you shed tears when you miss the sun,
you also miss the stars." (no.6)

But while Tagore is aware of human deficiencies he is also aware of the inner divinity which is innate in man.

"THE fish in the water is silent,
the animal on the earth is noisy,
the bird in the air is singing,
But Man has in him the
silence of the sea,
the noise of the earth
and the music of the air." (no.43)

These poems encompass a wide range of ideas illustrating Tagore's fount of creativity. Please enjoy all 99 of them.
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Stray Birds 01 - 10
,
825:She dwelt on the hillside by edge
of a maize-field, near the spring that
flows in laughing rills through the
solemn shadows of ancient trees. The
women came there to fill their jars,
and travellers would sit there to rest
and talk. She worked and dreamed
daily to the tune of the bubbling
stream.
  One evening the stranger came down
from the cloud-hidden peak; his locks
were tangled like drowsy snakes. We
asked in wonder, "Who are you?"
He answered not but sat by the
garrulous stream and silently gazed at
the hut where she dwelt. Our hearts
quaked in fear and we came back home
when it was night.
  Next morning when the women
came to fetch water at the spring by
the deodar trees, they found the doors
open in her hut, but her voice was gone
and where was her smiling face?
The empty jar lay on the floor and her
lamp had burnt itself out in the
corner. No one knew where she had
fled to before it was morningand the
stranger had gone.
  In the month of May the sun grew
strong and the snow melted, and we
sat by the spring and wept. We
wondered in our mind, "Is there a
spring in the land where she has gone
and where she can fill her vessel in
these hot thirsty days?" And we
asked each other in dismay, "Is there
a land beyond these hills where we
live?"
  It was a summer night; the breeze
blew from the south; and I sat in her
deserted room where the lamp stood
still unlit. When suddenly from
before my eyes the hills vanished like
curtains drawn aside. "Ah, it is
she who comes. How are you, my
child? Are you happy? But where
can you shelter under this open sky?
And, alas! our spring is not here to
allay your thirst."
  "Here is the same sky," she said,
"only free from the fencing hills,
this is the same stream grown into a
river,the same earth widened into
a plain." "Everything is here," I
sighed, "only we are not." She
smiled sadly and said, "You are in
my heart." I woke up and heard the
babbling of the stream and the rustling
of the deodars at night.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener LXXXIII - She Dwelt On The Hillside
,
826:Mother, the light has grown grey in the sky; I do not know what
the time is.
  There is no fun in my play, so I have come to you. It is
Saturday, our holiday.
  Leave off your work, mother; sit here by the window and tell
me where the desert of Tepantar in the fairy tale is.
  The shadow of the rains has covered the day from end to end.
  The fierce lightning is scratching the sky with its nails.
  When the clouds rumble and it thunders, I love to be afraid
in my heart and cling to you.
  When the heavy rain patters for hours on the bamboo leaves,
and our windows shake and rattle at the gusts of wind, I like to
sit alone in the room, mother, with you, and hear you talk about
the desert of Tepantar in the fairy tale.
  Where is it, mother, on the shore of what sea, at the foot of
what hills, in the kingdom of what king?
  There are no hedges there to mark the fields, no footpath
across it by which the villagers reach their village in the
evening, or the woman who gathers dry sticks in the forest can
bring her load to the market. With patches of yellow grass in the
sand and only one tree where the pair of wise old birds have their
nest, lies the desert of Tepantar.
  I can imagine how, on just such a cloudy day, the young son
of the king is riding alone on a grey horse through the desert, in
search of the princess who lies imprisoned in the giant's palace
across that unknown water.
  When the haze of the rain comes down in the distant sky, and
lightning starts up like a sudden fit of pain, does he remember his
unhappy mother, abandoned by the king, sweeping the cow-stall and
wiping her eyes, while he rides through the desert of Tepantar in
the fairy tale?
  See, mother, it is almost dark before the day is over, and
thee are no travellers yonder on the village road.
  The shepherd boy has gone home early from the pasture, and men
have left their fields to sit on mats under the eaves of their
huts, watching the scowling clouds.
  Mother, I have left all my books on the shelf-do not ask me
to do my lessons now.
  When I grow up and am bid like my father, I shall learn all
that must be learnt.
  But just for today, tell me, mother, where the desert of
Tepantar in the fairy tale is.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Land Of The Exile
,
827:Take back your coins, King's Councillor. I am of those women you
sent to the forest shrine to decoy the young ascetic who had never
seen a women. I failed in your bidding.
  Dimly day was breaking when the hermit boy came to bathe in
the stream, his tawny locks crowded on his shoulders, like a
cluster of morning clouds, and his limbs shining like a streak of
sunbeam. We laughed and sang as we rowed in our boat; we jumped
into the river in a mad frolic, and danced around him, when the sun
rose staring at us from the water's edge in a flush of divine
anger.
  Like a child-god, the boy opened his eyes and watched our
movements, the wonder deepening till his eyes shone like morning
stars. He lifted his clasped hands and chanted a hymn of praise in
his bird-like young voice, thrilling every leaf of the forest.
Never such words were sung to a mortal woman before; they were like
the silent hymn to the dawn which rises from the hushed hills. The
women hid their mouths with their hands, their bodies swaying with
laughter, and a spasm of doubt ran across his face. Quickly came
I to his side, sorely pained, and, bowing to his feet, I said,
"Lord, accept my service."
  I led him to the grassy bank, wiped his body with the end of
my silken mantle, and, kneeling on the ground, I dried his feet
with my trailing hair. When I raised my face and looked into his
eyes, I thought I felt the world's first kiss to the first woman,
-Blessed am I, blessed is God, who made me a woman. I heard him say
to me, "What God unknown are you? Your touch is the touch of the
Immortal, your eyes have the mystery of the midnight."
  Ah, no, not that smile, King's Councillor, -the dust of
worldly wisdom has covered your sight, old man. But this boy's
innocence pierced the mist and saw the shining truth, the woman
divine.
  The women clapped their hands, and laughed their obscene
laugh, and with veils dragged on the dust and hair hanging loose
they began to pelt him with flowers.
  Alas, my spotless sun, could not my shame weave fiery mist to
cover you in its folds? I fell at his feet and cried, "Forgive me.
" I fled like a stricken deer through shade and sun, and cried as
I fled, " Forgive me. " The women's foul laughter pressed me like
a cracking fire, but the words ever rang in my ears, " What God
unknown are you?"

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Lovers Gifts LXX - Take Back Your Coins
,
828:This Dog
14

This dog is a fan every morning

He sits still near the seat

As long as the company does not accept her

With touch.

I get so much recognition

Waves of joy rose all over.

In the middle of speechless creatures

This creature is just

Let's differentiate between good and evil

Seen in the whole man;

He saw that life can be given to those who are happy

Unreasonable love that can be poured out,

Infinite consciousness

Shows the way whose consciousness.

Let's see the dumb heart

Dedicated self-sacrifice

Your poverty,

I can't think and discover what that value is

As a human being in your own simple sense;

The pitiful longing for languageless sight

Understands what cannot be understood,

It explains to me the true identity of man in creation.

English Transcreation

Every morning this dog, very attached to me,
Quietly keeps sitting near my seat
Till touching its head
I recognize its company.
This recognition gives it so much joy
Pure delight ripples through its entire body.
Among all dumb creatures
It is the only living being
That has seen the whole man
Beyond what is good or bad in him
It has seen
For his love it can sacrifice its life
It can love him too for the sake of love alone
For it is he who shows the way
To the vast world pulsating with life.
When I see its deep devotion
The offer of its whole being
I fail to understand
By its sheer instinct
What truth it has discovered in man.
By its silent anxious piteous looks
It cannot communicate what it understands
But it has succeeded in conveying to me
Among the whole creation
What is the true status of man.

Transcreation of poem 14 from the collection Arogya by Rabindranath Tagore. During the closing years of his life every morning at Santiniketan the poet used to take his breakfast sitting on the verandah. At that time a stray dog used to sit very patiently at his feet. The breakfast consisted of a few slices of bread and a cup of tea. This dog shared it with the poet but the bread had got to be buttered, otherwise it wouldnt touch it. They the poet and the dog became great friends. Occasionally when it absented itself from this habitual meeting the poet made his attendants seek it out. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.

5 Translated by Kumud Biswas

~ Rabindranath Tagore, This Dog
,
829:I had once gone to Ujjaini
On the banks of the river Shipra
Far far away in that land of dreams
To seek the first love of my former life.
She had lodhra* powder on her face
A lotus she playfully held in her hand
She stuck buds of kunda in her ears
And kurubak flower in her hair
Her slim body she dressed in red
With a knot at her waist
Anklets gently jingled on her feet.
It was on a day in spring
To find my way I had to travel long
In that unknown land.

In the temple of Mahakal
The evening prayer bell rang
The crowded roads were now empty
The dusk was falling
And the rooftops were glowing
With the rays of setting sun.

My beloved's home
On a lonely narrow serpentine street
Was difficult to reach.
On the door was painted
A conchshell and a discus
On either side of its entrance
Grew two young mango trees
Like two beloved sons
On a white pillar at the gate
The statue of a lion stood.

Her pigeons had returned home
And on a golden bar
Her peacock had gone to sleep
With a lamp in her hand
My Malabika slowly came down.
She descended the stairs like a goddess
Holding an evening star in her hand.
The scent of flowers and her body
Fell on me like warm breaths
Her half-slipped dress
Revealed her left breast
Painted in chandan paste.

Seeing me my beloved
Put down the lamp on the stairs
And stood before me.
She held my hand
And silently asked with her anxious eyes,
'How are you, my friend?'
Looking at her I tried to reply
But no words came.
I had forgotten her language
Both of us tried hard
But failed to remember our names.
Only silent tears
Trickled down our eyes.

Sitting under the tree
We thought and thought
As a bird seeks its nest at the day's end
Her hands sought mine
Like a lotus bending on its stem
She slowly bent her head on my breast
And our warm eager breaths
Silently mingled.
In the darkness of night
Ujjaini was lost
At the gate
The lamp went out
In the temple
On the banks of Shipra
The prayers stopped.
*Lodhra is the name of a tree, the powder of its ground bark was used by women in poet Kalidasa's time for beautification. Kunda and Kurubak are names of flowers while Chandan is sandal wood.
Transcreation of the poem ''Swapna' from the collection Kalpana by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, A Dream
,
830:Mother, let us imagine we are travelling, and passing through a
strange and dangerous country.
  You are riding in a palanquin and I am trotting by you on a
red horse.
  It is evening and the sun goes down. The waste of Joradighi
lies wan and grey before us. The land is desolate and barren.
  You are frightened and thinking-"I know not where we have come
to."
  I say to you, "Mother, do not be afraid."
  The meadow is prickly with spiky grass, and through it runs
a narrow broken path.
  There are no cattle to be seen in the wide field; they have
gone to their village stalls.
  It grows dark and dim on the land and sky, and we cannot tell
where we are going.
  Suddenly you call me and ask me in a whisper, "What light is
that near the bank?"
  Just then there bursts out a fearful yell, and figures come
running towards us.
  You sit crouched in your palanquin and repeat the names of the
gods in prayer.
  The bearers, shaking in terror, hide themselves in the thorny
bush.
  I shout to you, "Don't be afraid, mother. I am here."
  With long sticks in their hands and hair all wild about their
heads, they come nearer and nearer.
  I shout, "Have a care, you villains! One step more and you are
dead men."
  They give another terrible yell and rush forward.
  You clutch my hand and say, "Dear boy, for heaven's sake, keep
away from them."
  I say, "Mother, just you watch me."
  Then I spur my horse for a wild gallop, and my sword and
buckler clash against each other.
  The fight becomes so fearful, mother, that it would give you
a cold shudder could you see it from your palanquin.
  Many of them fly, and a great number are cut to pieces.
  I know you are thinking, sitting all by yourself, that your
boy must be dead by this time.
  But I come to you all stained with blood, and say,"Mother, the
fight is over now."
  You come out and kiss me, pressing me to your heart, and you
say to yourself,
  "I don't know what I should do if I hadn't my boy to escort
me."
  A thousand useless things happen day after day, and why
couldn't such a thing come true by chance?
  It would be like a story in a book.
  My brother would say, "Is it possible? I always thought he was
so delicate!"
  Our village people would all say in amazement, "Was it not
lucky that the boy was with his mother?"

~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Hero
,
831:Pity, in place of love,
  That pettiest of gifts,
Is but a sugar-coating over neglect.
  Any passerby can make a gift of it
    To a street beggar,
Only to forget the moment the first corner is turned.
    I had not hoped for anything more that day.

You left during the last watch of night.
  I had hoped you would say goodbye,
     Just say 'Adieu' before going away,
  What you had said another day,
       What I shall never hear again.
        In their place, just that one word,
Bound by the thin fabric of a little compassion
     Would even that have been too much for you to bear?

     When I first awoke from sleep
          My heart fluttered with fear
      Lest the time had been over.
       I rushed out of bed.
   The distant church clock chimed half past twelve
       I sat waiting near the door of my room
         Resting my head against it,
  Facing the porch through which you would come out.

Even that tiniest of chances
Was snatched away by fate from hapless me;
I fell asleep
    Shortly before you left.
Perhaps you cast a sidelong glance
      At my reclining body
  Like a broken boat left high and dry.
Perhaps you walked away with care
      Lest you wake me up.
Awaking with a start I knew at once
      That my vigil had been wasted
I realised, what was to go went away in a moment,
    What was to stay behind stayed on
      For all time.

Silence everywhere
Like that of a birds' nest bereft of birds
    On the bough of a songless tree.
With the lifeless light of the waning moon was now blended
    The pallor of dawn
Spreading itself over the greyness of my empty life.
         I walked towards your bedroom
                  For no reason.
           Outside the door
       Burnt a smoky lantern covered with soot,
      The porch smelt of the smouldering wick.
Over the abandoned bed the flaps of the rolled-up mosquito-net
          Fluttered a little in the breeze.
      Seen in the sky outside through the window
            Was the morning star,
          Witness of all sleepless people
            Bereft of hope.

Suddenly I found you had left behind by mistake
Your gold-mounted ivory walking stick.
   If there were time, I thought,
   You might come back from the station to look for it,
   But not because
You had not seen me before going away.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, At The Last Watch
,
832:Just suppose for once -
I was travelling with my mother
In a foreign land
And going to a far away place.
Mother, you were in a palanquin
With its doors slightly ajar
And I was cantering along
On a chestnut horse
Raising clouds of dust.

When in the west the sun set
And it was evening
It seemed we had reached
That vast plain where the twin ponds are.
Wherever we looked
It was utterly empty and dark
There was not even a single man or beast
And mother, this seems to have made you afraid
And you thought
'To what strange place have we come?'
I said, "Mother, don't fear
See yonder is the bed of the dead river."

That wild country was covered with weeds
And the road had taken a turn in its midst.
No cattle were grazing there
As soon as it was evening
They had left for the village
Who knows whither we were bound
For nothing was visible in the dark.
Just then you told me, mother,
"What light I see near those ponds?"

All on a sudden, lo! who were coming there
Shouting and raising a hullabaloo?
In fear you were praying in your palanquin
Its bearers had fled to the nearby bush
And were trembling in fear in their hiding place.
I called out aloud,
"Mother, why do you fear?
I am here."

They had heavy clubs in their hands,
Thick dishevelled hair on their heads
And jaba flowers stuck in their ears.
I told them, 'Beware!
See my sword here
Take one more step forward,
I'll cut you all to pieces.'
In reply they jumped up
And shouted even louder.

Mother you told me, "Child, don't go there!"
I said, "See what I do".
Spurring on my horse
I went among those bandits.
You'll be amazed to hear
With my sword and shield
What a great fight was there!
Some of them took to their heels
And many got killed.

You must have feared
After fighting alone with so many brigands
Your son had died.
Sprinkled with blood
And wet with sweat
When I came back and told,
"The fight is over"
You came down from your palanquin
You kissed me
And took me on your lap and said,
"Luckily my child was there
Otherwise what great calamity it would have been."

Every day so many things happen
Not all of them are so very important
But why doesn't it happen
As I sometimes imagine?
It would have made a capital story
And everybody would listen in amazement
My elder brother would of course shrug in disbelief,
"How is such a thing possible -
For he is a weakling."
But our neighbours would say,
"Luckily, the mother had her child by her side."
Transcreation of the famous poem 'Birpurush' from the collection Shishu by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreated by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Hero(2)
,
833:Maran-Milan (Death-Wedding)
Why do you speak so softly, Death, Death,
Creep upon me, watch me so stealthily?
This is not how a lover should behave.
When evening flowers droop upon their tired
Stems, when cattle are brought in from the fields
After a whole days grazing, you, Death,
Death, approach me with such gentle steps,
Settle yourself immovably by my side.
I cannot understand the things you say.

Alas, will this be how you will take me, Death,
Death? Like a thief, laying heavy sleep
On my eyes as you descend to my heart?
Will you thus let your tread be a slow beat
In my sleep-numbed blood, your jingling ankle-bells
A drowsy rumble in my ear? Will you, Death,
Death, wrap me, finally, in your cold
Arms and carry me away while I dream?
I do not know why you thus come and go.

Tell me, is this the way you wed, Death,
Death? Unceremonially, with no
Weight of sacrament or blessing or prayer?
Will you come with your massy tawny hair
Unkempt, unbound into a bright coil-crown?
Will no one bear your victory-flag before
Or after, will no torches glow like red
Eyes along the river, Death, Death?
Will earth not quake in terror at your step?

When fierce-eyed Siva came to take his bride,
Remember all the pomp and trappings, Death,
Death: the flapping tiger-skins he wore;
His roaring bull; the serpents hissing round
His hair; the bom-bom sound as he slapped his cheeks;
The necklace of skulls swinging round his neck;
The sudden raucous music as he blew
His horn to announce his coming - was this not
A better way of wedding, Death, Death?

And as that deathly wedding-partys din
Grew nearer, Death, Death, tears of joy
Filled Gauris eyes and the garments at her breast
Quivered; her left eye fluttered and her heart
Pounded; her body quailed with thrilled delight
And her mind ran away with itself, Death, Death;
Her mother wailed and smote her head at the thought
Of receiving so wild a groom; and in his mind
Her father agreed calamity had struck.

Why must you always come like a thief, Death,
Death, always silently, at nights end,
Leaving only tears? Come to me festively,
Make the whole night ring with your triumph, blow
Your victory-conch, dress me in blood-red robes,
Grasp me by the hand and sweep me away!
Pay no heed to what others may think, Death,
Death, for I shall of my own free will
Resort to you if you but take me gloriously.

If I am immersed in work in my room
When you arrive, Death, Death, then break
My work, thrust my unreadiness aside.
If I am sleeping, sinking all desires
In the dreamy pleasure of my bed, or I lie
With apathy gripping my heart and my eyes
Flickering between sleep and waking, fill
Your conch with your destructive breath and blow,
Death, Death, and I shall run to you.

I shall go to where your boat is moored,
Death, Death, to the sea where the wind rolls
Darkness towards me from infinity.
I may see black clouds massing in the far
North-east corner of the sky; fiery snakes
Of lightning may rear up with their hoods raised,
But I shall not flinch in unfounded fear -
I shall pass silently, unswervingly
Across that red storm-sea, Death, Death.


~ Rabindranath Tagore, Maran-Milan (Death-Wedding)
,
834:She was not quite fair
But she was bright
She wore a necklace of coral beads
In great astonishment I used to look at her
With her large black eyes
She looked straight
She was about my age
This adolescent maid.
Her image is still alive in my mind.
The southern gate of the room was open
Against the pale blue sky
The almond tree
With its newly sprouted leaves
Was gleaming in the morning light.
She was dressed in a white sari
Its black borders
Winding around her young tender body
Had fallen on her feet.
On her two lovely hands
Two gold bangles she had.
On holidays at noon
When I read books of stories
On their pages only her image I found.
She used to take me often to a mysterious land
Which an unknown deity creates
Beyond our reach
Beyond my childish dreams.
A fantasy embodied
She cast the tender touch of her invisible shadow
On my body and mind.
To talk to her I was not so bold.
I felt in my heart only a pain
Like a softly sung tune -
She was far, too far,
As far as the highest branches of the shirish
That sends a soft fragrance to the mind.

It was the wedding ceremony of her dolls
I was invited to attend
In great fun
The invitees made gleeful noises
In diffidence I remained at one end
I was tongue-tied and shy
It seemed
That evening passed in vain
I dont remember what was served on my plate
But I remember to have seen
A pair of feet hurrying back and forth
Covered by the dancing border of a sari.
In a stolen glance I also saw
In her bangles were caught
The pure golden rays of the sun.
In her sweet voice
She made repeated requests
Back home half the night
They resonated in my mind.

Then by and by
We became known to each other more
Freely we began to mix.
I began to call her by her nickname.
I got over my shyness
We began to cut jokes.
Often for made-up mistakes
She was mad with me in a mocking rage.
Sometimes her rude words and cruel jokes
Gave me pain.
Sometimes she blamed me
For my carelessness.
Sometimes I saw her carelessly dressed
She was busy in cooking
She didnt feel embarrassed.
For my idiocy which is natural in a male
She used to rebuke me severely
In her arrogance of womanly superior knowledge.
One day she told me,
I know how to read palms.
She took my hand in her hand
And read it with her head bent
She told me
You are luckless in love.
I gave no reply
The real proof, her loving touch,
Conclusively disproved my lucklessness in love.

Yet after all these I cannot forget the pain
I couldnt know her more!
One can hardly be nearest to what is beautiful
It ever remains far
When nearer it urges one ever
To know it ever more.

My days, filled with joys and sorrows,
Are ending in the western sky
The harshness of summer
Is mellowing in blue
The glow of autumn on golden corn
Is playing the holiday flute.
Laden with dreams
My boat is slowly sailing
To an unknown land.
Transcreation of the poem Shyama from the collection Akashpradip by Rabindranath Tagore. The theme is the memories of his notun-bouthan or new sister-in-law Kadambaridevi, the wife of his elder brother Jyotirindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Shyama
,
835:Neither a mother nor a daughter
Nor even a wife in an earthly home
O fair Urvashi
You are a denizen of heaven!
Drawing a golden veil
When evening descends on the meadows
You do not light up a lamp
In the corner of a home
In the middle of a silent night
With a tremulous heart and bashful eyes
In shy halting steps you do not go
To the chamber of a groom
For your first union.
Like the light of dawn
You wear no veil
You are never coy
And hesitation you have none.

Like a flower in full bloom
Growing without any stem
When did you blossom on your own!
With a cup of honey in your right hand
And a cup of poison in your left
In the primeval spring you sprang
Out of the churning oceans
Whose waves like charmed snakes
Laid at your feet their thousand hoods
And the king of gods
Paid homage to your naked form
Blemishlessly white as a white flower.

Like a bud yet to break
Were you never a small child
O you Urvashi forever young!
Where did you spend your childhood days
Under the seas unseen
Playing with pearls and gems
And sleeping on a coral bed
The moment you rose above
You appeared fully grown
And in full bloom.

From the time without a beginning
To the whole world
You have been an object of desire
O fair Urvashi without compare!

Sages have offered at your feet
All the fruits of their meditation
By your insinuating glance
The world stirs up in youthful vigor
The winds like messengers blind
Carry your intoxicating scent
All around
Like greedy bees
Intoxicated by honey
The poets hum rhapsodic songs
Restless like lightning
Jingling your anklets
You glide past them all.

In the heavenly hall
When you dance in wild ecstasy
O you fleet-footed Urvashi!
In waves the oceans dance
In her waving cornfields
The earth expresses her thrills
In the skies
Like gems of your necklace
Pendant on your breast
The stars fall
The horizons are exposed bare
When you are careless with your dress
And from your waist
It suddenly slips.

Like the dawn
That dawns on heaven's eastern mounts
You have kept the world ever spellbound!
Your slim beautiful body
Is washed by world's tears
And your feet its blood beautifies
O you naked one with hair flowing free!
The lust of this world is a lotus
On it your feet you have lightly placed
In the universal mind
You are the playful partner of its dreams.

For you all the world wails
Do you hear
O you Urvashi deaf and cruel!
Will the time when you first appeared
Ever return
And you will rise again
>From the depths of shoreless seas
On a fresh morning
We will see your fresh form
And all your limbs will cry
>From wounds
Made by lustful glances of our eyes
And in breaking waves
The oceans will sing a song in your praise?

No, no, such a time will never return
O Urvashi
Like the setting sun
You are forever gone
Even the happiest moments of spring
Are now mixed with sighs
Of someone's eternal separation
In the full moon
When everything smiles
A sad tune like a long forgotten memory
Saddens our mind.
Yet a forlorn hope remains
In our cries and cravings for one
Who defies all bonds.
Transcreation of the poem 'Urvashi' from the collection Chitra by Rabindranath. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Urvashi
,
836:This is the alley
Named after Kinu the milkman.
By its side stands
A two-storey building
Its ground floor room
Is enclosed by iron railings.
It is thoroughly damp
Here and there its walls
Bear ugly damp marks
In places their plasters are also peeling off.
On its door hangs a rag
Torn from a bale of plain cloth
Stamped on it is
An image of Lord Ganesh,
The god who gives one success
In all enterprises.
With me
In that room lives another creature
Who of course pays no additional rent
Its a common lizard
Found in dwelling houses
The only difference is this -
It is in no want of food.

For my food
I have to give tuition
To the young son of the Duttas
For I am only a junior clerk
In a business house
And my pay is only twenty-five rupees.
In the evenings
I go to the Sealdah railway station
There I spend my time
For it saves me the cost
Of lighting my room.
There is a lot of noise
Of rail engines and their whistles
And a lot of hustles and bustles
Among passengers and porters
At half past ten
I return to my lonely den
Utterly dark and silent.

In a village
On the banks of the river Dhaleswari
Lives my paternal aunt
It was settled
That a hapless fellow like me
Should marry the daughter
Of her husbands younger brother.
The date fixed for the ceremony
Was found to be very auspicious
But on that very day I fled away
At least it saved the girl from a calamity
And of course me too.
To me she never came
But now she always moves about in my mind
Clad in a Dhakai sari
And on her forehead with a blob of vermilion.

When the rains come very heavy and thick
I have to spend some extra money
For my journeys to the office by trams.
For late attendance
Often I have to suffer cuts in my salary.
In every nook and corner of the alley
There gather heaps of putrid wastes
Peelings of fruits and vegetables,
Carcasses of cats and dogs
And various other things.
Like my deducted salary
My umbrella is full of holes
And my office dress is always wet
Like the mind of Gopikanta Gosain
Over-saturated with devotion to his deity.
In my damp room
Like a beast caught up in a trap,
Delirious and unconscious,
The shadow of rain clouds broods.
Day and night it seems
Without any hope of release
Forever I am condemned to a half-dead world.

At the bend of the lane lives Kantababu
With well-groomed hair
And a pair of large eyes
He is a man of refined tastes
His hobby is to play on a cornet.
At times the vicious air of this alley
Becomes alive with music
Sometimes it is in the dead of night
Or at dawn, half in darkness and half in light,
Or again in the afternoons glimmering twilight
In the evening all on a sudden
When the sindhu-baroan raga is played on
The whole sky resonates
With the timeless cry of a pining love
Separated from her beloved.
At moments like these
I realize
This alley is so absurdly unreal
Like the ravings of an insufferable drunkard
It also seems
There is no difference
Between a mighty emperor and a poor clerk
Along this plaintive note of music
Both the prince and the pauper
Travel together towards the same heaven.

And where this music is true
There in a timeless twilight
The Dhaleswari flows on
Its banks are deeply shaded by tamal trees
And one who keeps waiting in the courtyard
Is clad in a Dhakai sari
And on her forehead with a blob of vermilion.
A transcreation of the poem Banshi from the collection Punascha by Rabindranath Tagore.
In the compilation Sanchayita it is entitled Kinu goalar goli. Among the poems written by the poet on the theme of music this one is the most famous. In Bengali a milkman is called a goala. Translated by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Kinu Goalas Alley
,
837:I THE DARK

In a worldless timeless lightless great emptiness
   Four-faced Brahma broods.

nasad asin, no sad asit tadanim;
nasid raja no vioma paro yat.
kim avarivah? kuha? kasya sarmann?
Ambhah kim asid, gahanam gabhiram?

na mytur asid, amrtam na tarhi.
na ratria ahna asit pratekh.
anid avatam svadhaya tad ekam.
tasmad dhanyan na parah kim canasa.

tama asit tamasa gudham agre;
apraketam salilam sarvam a idam.
tuchyenabhu apihitam yad asit,
tapasas tan mahinajayataikam.

Of a sudden sea of joy surges through his heart
   The ur-god opens his eyes.
   Speech from four mouths
   Speeds from each quarter.
   Through infinite dark,
   Through limitless sky,
   Like a growing sea-storm,
   Like hope never sated,
   His Word starts to move.

Stirred by joy         his breathing quickens,
   His eight eyes quiver with flame.
His fire-matted hair    sweeps the horizon,
   Bright as a million suns.

From the towering source of the world
   In a thousand streams
Cascades the primeval blazing fountain,
   Fragmenting silence,
   Splitting its stone heart.

kamas tad agre sam avartatadhi
manaso retah prathamam yad asit?
sato bandhum asati nir avindan
hrdi pratisya kavayo manisa

II THE MUSIC

   In a universe rampant
   With new life exhalant,
   With new life exultant,
   Vishnu spreads wide
   His four-handed blessing.
   He raises his conch
   And all things quake
   At its booming sound.
   The frenzy dies down,
   The furnace expires,
   The planets douse
   Their flames with tears,
   The worlds Divine Poet
   Constructs its history,
   From wild cosmic song
   Its epic is formed.
   Stars in their orbits,
   Moon sun and planets
   He binds with his mace
   All things to Law,
   Imposes the discipline
   Of metre and rhyme.

   In the Manasa depths
   Vishnu watches -
   Beauties arise
   From the light of lotuses.
   Lakshmi strews smiles -
   Clouds show a rainbow,
   Gardens show flowers.
   The roar of Creation
   Resolves into music.
   Softness hides rigour,
   Forms cover power.

tirascino vitato rasmir esam:
adhah svid asid, upari svid asit?
retodha asan, mahimana asan;
svadha avasat, prayatih parastat.

Age after age after age is slave to a mighty rhythm
   At last the world-frame
   Tires in its body,
   Sleep in its eyes
   Slackens its structure,
   Diffuses its energy.
   From the heart of all matter
   Comes the anguished cry
   Wake, wake, great Shiva,
   Our body grows weary
   Of its law-fixed path,
   Give us new form.
   Sing our destruction,
   That we gain new life.

III THE FIRE

   The great god awakes,
   His three eyes open,
   He surveys all horizons.
He lifts his bow,      his fell pinaka,
   He pounds the world with his tread.
From first things to last  it trembles and shakes
         And shudders.
The bonds of nature are ripped.
The sky is rocked by the roar
Of a wave of ecstatic release.
   An inferno soars
   The pyre of the universe.

Shattered sun and moon, smashed stars and planets,
   Rain down from all angles,
   A blackness of all particles
   To be swallowed by flame,
   Absorbed in an instant.
   At the start of Creation
   There was a dark without origin,
   At the breaking of Creation
   There is fire without end
In an all-pervading sky-engulfing sea of burning
   Shiva shuts his three eyes.
   He begins his great trance.

ko adha veda? Ka iha pravocat,
kuta ajata, kuta iyam visrstih?
arvag deva asya visajanena:
atha ko veda yata ababhuva?

iyam visrstir yata ababhuva;
yadi vasa dadhe yadi van na:
yo asyadhyaksah parame vioman
so anga veda, yadi va na veda.

~ Rabindranath Tagore, Brahm, Viu, iva
,
838:Are you a mere portrait
Drawn on a canvas?
Those distant galaxies
Which crowd the skies
And travel day and night
Through darkness with their candles
The planets, the sun and the stars
Arent you real like them
O you portrait
Are you a mere portrait?

Here everything moves
In its midst
Why do you stand still?
Join those who travel
Losing your way
Why day and night
Remaining among us
You are so far away standing apart
In a place where nothing ever moves?
This dust
Running everywhere with the winds
In the months of summer
Covers the earth in grey
With its grey layers like a scarf
When she is stripped of her ornaments like a widow
Doing some penance
But when the spring comes
Ushering the hour of love
It bedecks her with new sprouting leaves
And that dust
It is real too.
This grass
Trodden over by all
It is restless, it is real.
But you do not move, you are still,
So a mere portrait you are.
Along this way
You once walked with us
Your breast once heaved with living breath
Keeping rhythms with the living
Life in your limbs
Danced and sang
Weaving ever new rhymes of its own
It seems it is so long time ago!
In my eyes, in my world
You were so real!
With your brush
In the morning hours of my life
You had colored my eyes
To see and savor the beauties of this world
In that dawn to me
You were the embodied message of the universe.

We were walking side by side
But behind the pall of night
Suddenly you stalled.
Since then
Night and day
In darkness and light
In a wilderness
I have been moving ahead
In joys and sorrows
Drifting along the rising and falling tides;
Silently on either side of my way
Flowers are giving me company
Blossoming in myriad colors;
Along various channels
The stream of life is rushing
To its ultimate end.
Urged by an unknown siren
In sheer love of my way
I am going far yet far
Stepping aside
Where you stopped
There you are standing still.
Behind those dusts, those grasses,
Behind the sun and the moon and the stars
You are a portrait, a mere portrait.
But what nonsense the poet talks!
You are a portrait!
No, no, you are not a mere portrait at all.
Who says you remain enmeshed
Within the lines of that sketch
Silently crying?
Alas! Alas!
If this river lost its waving rhythms
If this cloud effaced its golden hues
All the joys would then come to an end
If the shadows of your lovely hair
Were lost from this world
The murmuring shadows of these spring flowers
Swaying in restless winds
Would then become a mere dream.
Have I ever forgotten you?
This blunder I often commit -
At the very root of my life
You have taken your seat
When walking our way in an absent mind
Dont we fail to notice a flower or a star?
Yet they sweeten our lives
Our forgotten moments
They fill with their songs
Failure to remember you at times
Cannot be my forgetfulness
Remaining hidden in my being
You are always quickening my blood.
You are no longer before my eyes
You have taken your place in them.
In my world
You are mingled with whatever I see
Be it the greenery of this earth
Or the blue of the sky.
In you my existence has found its harmony.
I am hardly aware
Nor others know
All my songs echo with your tunes;
In the heart of the poet
You are the poet
You are not a mere portrait at all.
I got you in the dawn of my life
But lost you one night
Now in the dark I get you unaware
Never a portrait, a mere portrait, you are.
Transcreation of one of the most famous and most untranslatable poems - number 6, also called Chhabi, from the collection Balaka by Rabindranath Tagore. Written in rhyming free verse it is a deeply moving tribute to Kadambaridevi, wife of his elder brother Jyotirindranath, whom he used to call his notunbouthan (new sister-in-law). This couple made the greatest contribution to the making of the phenomenon called Rabindranath. And this talented lady was the earliest and deepest inspiration in the literary life of the poet. When only 25 she committed suicide. At the time Tagore was 23 and a struggling poet. More than anyone else it was Kadambari who helped him in his chrysalis. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
Translated by Kumud Biswas
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Portrait
,
839:Kasinath the new young singer fills the hall with sound:
The seven notes dance in his throat like seven tame birds.
His voice is a sharp sword slicing and thrusting everywhere,
It darts like lightening - no knowing where it will go when.
He sets deadly traps for himself, then cuts them away:
The courtiers listen in amazement, give frequent gasps of praise.
Only the old king Pratap Ray sits like wood, unmoved.
Haraj Lal is the only singer he likes, all others leave him cold.
From childhood he has spent so long listening to him sing -
Rag Kafi during holi, cloud-songs during the rains,
Songs for Durga at dawn in autumn, songs to bid her farewell -
His heart swelled when he heard them and his eyes swam with tears.
And on days when friends gathered and filled the hall
There were cowherds' songs of Krsna, in raags Bhupali and Multan.

So many nights of wedding-festivity have passed in that royal house:
Servants dressed in red, hundreds of lamps alight:
The bridegroom sitting shyly in his finery and jewels,
Young friends teasing him and whispering in his ear:
Before him, singing raag Sahana, sits Baraj Lal.
The king's heart is full of all those days and songs.
When he hears some other singer, he feels no chord inside,
No sudden magical awakening of memories of the past.
When Pratap Ray watches Kasinath he just sees his wagging head:
Tune after tune after tune, bu none with any echo in the heart.

Kasinath asks for a rest and the singing stops for a space.
Pratap Ray smilingly turns his eyes to Baraj Lal.
He puts his mouth to his ear and says, 'Dear ustad,
Give us a song as songs ought to be, this is no song at all.
It's all tricks and games, like a cat hunting a bird.
We used to hear songs in the old days, today they have no idea.'

Old Baraj Lal, white-haired, white turban on his head,
Bows to the assembled courtiers and slowly takes his seat.
He takes the tanpura in his wasted, heavily veined hand
And with lowered head and closed eyes begins raag Yaman-kalyap.
His quavering voice is swallowed by the enormous hall,
Is like a tiny bird in a storm, unable to fly for all it tries.
Pratap Ray, sitting to the left, encourages him again and again:
'Superb, bravo!' he says in his ear, 'sing out loud.'

The courtiers are inattentive, some whisper amongst themselves,
Some of them yawn, some doze, some go off to their rooms;
Some of them call to servants, 'Bring the bookah, bring some pan.'
Some fan themselves furiously and complain of the heat.
They cannot keep still for a minute, they shuffle or walk about -
The hall was quiet before, but every sort of noise has grown.
The old man's singing is swamped, like a frail boat in a typhoon:
Only his shaky fingering of the tanpura shows it is there.

Music that should rise on its own joy from the depths of the heart
Is crushed by heedless clamour, like a fountain under a stone.
The song and Baraj Lal's feelings go separate ways,
But he sings for all he is worth, to keep up the honour of his king.

One of the verses of the song has somehow slipped from his mind.
He quickly goes back, tries to get it right this time.
Again he forgets, it is lost, he shakes his head at the shame;
He starts the song at the beginning - again he has to stop.
His hand trembles doubly as he prays to his teachers name.
His voice quakes with distress, like a lamp guttering in a breeze.
He abandons the words of the song and tries to salvage the tune,
But suddenly his wide-mouthed singing breaks into loud cries.
The intricate melody goes to the winds, the rhythm is swept away -
Tears snap the thread of the song, cascade like pearls.
In shame he rests his head on the old tanpura in his lap -
He has failed to remember a song: he weeps as he did as a child.
With brimming eyes king Pratap Ray tenderly touches his friend:
'Come, let us go from here,' he says with kindness and love.
They leave that festive hall with its hundreds of blinding lights.
The two old friends go outside, holding each other's hands.

Baraj says with hands clasped, 'Master, our days are gone.
New men have come now, new styles and customs in the world.
The court we kept is deserted - only the two of us are left.
Don't ask anyone to listen to me now, I beg you at your feet, my lord.
The singer along does not make a song, there has to be someone who hears:
One man opens his throat to sing, the other sings in his mind.
Only when waves fall on the shore do they make a harmonious sound;
Only when breezes shake the woods do we hear a rustling in the leaves.
Only from a marriage of two forces does music arise in the world.
Where there is no love, where listeners are dumb, there never can be song.'

Translated by William Radice
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Broken Song
,
840:The light of the sun, the moon, and the stars shines bright: The melody of love swells forth, and the rhythm of love's detachment beats the time. Day and night, the chorus of music fills the heavens; and Kabir says "My Beloved One gleams like the lightning flash in the sky." Do you know how the moments perform their adoration? Waving its row of lamps, the universe sings in worship day and night, There are the hidden banner and the secret canopy: There the sound of the unseen bells is heard. Kabir says: "There adoration never ceases; there the Lord of the Universe sitteth on His throne." The whole world does its works and commits its errors: but few are the lovers who know the Beloved. The devout seeker is he who mingles in his heart the double currents of love and detachment, like the mingling of the streams of Ganges and Jumna; In his heart the sacred water flows day and night; and thus the round of births and deaths is brought to an end. Behold what wonderful rest is in the Supreme Spirit! and he enjoys it, who makes himself meet for it. Held by the cords of love, the swing of the Ocean of Joy sways to and fro; and a mighty sound breaks forth in song. See what a lotus blooms there without water! and Kabir says "My heart's bee drinks its nectar." What a wonderful lotus it is, that blooms at the heart of the spinning wheel of the universe! Only a few pure souls know of its true delight. Music is all around it, and there the heart partakes of the joy of the Infinite Sea. Kabir says: "Dive thou into that Ocean of sweetness: thus let all errors of life and of death flee away." Behold how the thirst of the five senses is quenched there! and the three forms of misery are no more! Kabir says: "It is the sport of the Unattainable One: look within, and behold how the moon-beams of that Hidden One shine in you." There falls the rhythmic beat of life and death: Rapture wells forth, and all space is radiant with light. There the Unstruck Music is sounded; it is the music of the love of the three worlds. There millions of lamps of sun and of moon are burning; There the drum beats, and the lover swings in play. There love-songs resound, and light rains in showers; and the worshipper is entranced in the taste of the heavenly nectar. Look upon life and death; there is no separation between them, The right hand and the left hand are one and the same. Kabir says: "There the wise man is speechless; for this truth may never be found in Vedas or in books." I have had my Seat on the Self-poised One, I have drunk of the Cup of the Ineffable, I have found the Key of the Mystery, I have reached the Root of Union. Travelling by no track, I have come to the Sorrowless Land: very easily has the mercy of the great Lord come upon me. They have sung of Him as infinite and unattainable: but I in my meditations have seen Him without sight. That is indeed the sorrowless land, and none know the path that leads there: Only he who is on that path has surely transcended all sorrow. Wonderful is that land of rest, to which no merit can win; It is the wise who has seen it, it is the wise who has sung of it. This is the Ultimate Word: but can any express its marvelous savour? He who has savoured it once, he knows what joy it can give. Kabir says: "Knowing it, the ignorant man becomes wise, and the wise man becomes speechless and silent, The worshipper is utterly inebriated, His wisdom and his detachment are made perfect; He drinks from the cup of the inbreathings and the outbreathings of love." There the whole sky is filled with sound, and there that music is made without fingers and without strings; There the game of pleasure and pain does not cease. Kabir says: "If you merge your life in the Ocean of Life, you will find your life in the Supreme Land of Bliss." What a frenzy of ecstasy there is in every hour! and the worshipper is pressing out and drinking the essence of the hours: he lives in the life of Brahma. I speak truth, for I have accepted truth in life; I am now attached to truth, I have swept all tinsel away. Kabir says: "Thus is the worshipper set free from fear; thus have all errors of life and of death left him." There the sky is filled with music: There it rains nectar: There the harp-strings jingle, and there the drums beat. What a secret splendour is there, in the mansion of the sky! There no mention is made of the rising and the setting of the sun; In the ocean of manifestation, which is the light of love, day and night are felt to be one. Joy for ever, no sorrow,--no struggle! There have I seen joy filled to the brim, perfection of joy; No place for error is there. Kabir says: "There have I witnessed the sport of One Bliss!" I have known in my body the sport of the universe: I have escaped from the error of this world. The inward and the outward are become as one sky, the Infinite and the finite are united: I am drunken with the sight of this All! This Light of Thine fulfills the universe: the lamp of love that burns on the salver of knowledge. Kabir says: "There error cannot enter, and the conflict of life and death is felt no more." [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

~ Kabir, The light of the sun, the moon, and the stars shines bright
,
841:The Homecoming
Phatik Chakravorti was ringleader among the boys of the village. A new mischief got into his head. There was a heavy log lying on the mud-flat of the river waiting to be shaped into a mast for a boat. He decided that they should all work together to shift the log by main force from its place and roll it away. The owner of the log would be angry and surprised, and they would all enjoy the fun. Every one seconded the proposal, and it was carried unanimously.

But just as the fun was about to begin, Makhan, Phatiks younger brother, sauntered up, and sat down on the log in front of them all without a word. The boys were puzzled for a moment. He was pushed, rather timidly, by one of the boys and told to get up but he remained quite unconcerned. He appeared like a young philosopher meditating on the futility of games. Phatik was furious. Makhan, he cried, if you dont get down this minute Ill thrash you!

Makhan only moved to a more comfortable position.

Now, if Phatik was to keep his regal dignity before the public, it was clear he ought to carry out his threat. But his courage failed him at the crisis. His fertile brain, however, rapidly seized upon a new maneuver which would discomfit his brother and afford his followers an added amusement. He gave the word of command to roll the log and Makhan over together. Makhan heard the order, and made it a point of honor to stick on. But he overlooked the fact, like those who attempt earthly fame in other matters, that there was peril in it.

The boys began to heave at the log with all their might, calling out, One, two, three, go, At the word go the log went; and with it went Makhans philosophy, glory and all.

All the other boys shouted themselves hoarse with delight. But Phatik was a little frightened. He knew what was coming. And, sure enough, Makhan rose from Mother Earth blind as Fate and screaming like the Furies. He rushed at Phatik and scratched his face and beat him and kicked him, and then went crying home. The first act of the drama was over.

Phatik wiped his face, and sat down on the edge of a sunken barge on the river bank, and began to chew a piece of grass. A boat came up to the landing, and a middle-aged man, with grey hair and dark moustache, stepped on shore. He saw the boy sitting there doing nothing, and asked him where the Chakravortis lived. Phatik went on chewing the grass, and said: Over there, but it was quite impossible to tell where he pointed. The stranger asked him again. He swung his legs to and fro on the side of the barge, and said; Go and find out, and continued to chew the grass as before.

But now a servant came down from the house, and told Phatik his mother wanted him. Phatik refused to move. But the servant was the master on this occasion. He took Phatik up roughly, and carried him, kicking and struggling in impotent rage.

When Phatik came into the house, his mother saw him. She called out angrily: So you have been hitting Makhan again?

Phatik answered indignantly: No, I havent; who told you that?

His mother shouted: Dont tell lies! You have.

Phatik said suddenly: I tell you, I havent. You ask Makhan! But Makhan thought it best to stick to his previous statement. He said: Yes, mother. Phatik did hit me.

Phatiks patience was already exhausted. He could not hear this injustice. He rushed at Makban, and hammered him with blows: Take that he cried, and that, and that, for telling lies.

His mother took Makhans side in a moment, and pulled Phatik away, beating him with her hands. When Phatik pushed her aside, she shouted out: What I you little villain! would you hit your own mother?

It was just at this critical juncture that the grey-haired stranger arrived. He asked what was the matter. Phatik looked sheepish and ashamed.

But when his mother stepped back and looked at the stranger, her anger was changed to surprise. For she recognized her brother, and cried: Why, Dada! Where have you come from? As she said these words, she bowed to the ground and touched his feet. Her brother had gone away soon after she had married, and he had started business in Bombay. His sister had lost her husband while he was In Bombay. Bishamber had now come back to Calcutta, and had at once made enquiries about his sister. He had then hastened to see her as soon as he found out where she was.

The next few days were full of rejoicing. The brother asked after the education of the two boys. He was told by his sister that Phatik was a perpetual nuisance. He was lazy, disobedient, and wild. But Makhan was as good as gold, as quiet as a lamb, and very fond of reading, Bishamber kindly offered to take Phatik off his sisters hands, and educate him with his own children in Calcutta. The widowed mother readily agreed. When his uncle asked Phatik If he would like to go to Calcutta with him, his joy knew no bounds, and he said; Oh, yes, uncle! In a way that made it quite clear that he meant it.

It was an immense relief to the mother to get rid of Phatik. She had a prejudice against the boy, and no love was lost between the two brothers. She was in daily fear that he would either drown Makhan some day in the river, or break his head in a fight, or run him into some danger or other. At the same time she was somewhat distressed to see Phatiks extreme eagerness to get away.

Phatik, as soon as all was settled, kept asking his uncle every minute when they were to start. He was on pins and needles all day long with excitement, and lay awake most of the night. He bequeathed to Makhan, in perpetuity, his fishing-rod, his big kite and his marbles. Indeed, at this time of departure his generosity towards Makhan was unbounded.

When they reached Calcutta, Phatik made the acquaintance of his aunt for the first time. She was by no means pleased with this unnecessary addition to her family. She found her own three boys quite enough to manage without taking any one else. And to bring a village lad of fourteen into their midst was terribly upsetting. Bishamber should really have thought twice before committing such an indiscretion.

In this world of human affairs there is no worse nuisance than a boy at the age of fourteen. He is neither ornamental, nor useful. It is impossible to shower affection on him as on a little boy; and he is always getting in the way. If he talks with a childish lisp he is called a baby, and if he answers in a grown-up way he is called impertinent. In fact any talk at all from him is resented. Then he is at the unattractive, growing age. He grows out of his clothes with indecent haste; his voice grows hoarse and breaks and quavers; his face grows suddenly angular and unsightly. It is easy to excuse the shortcomings of early childhood, but it is hard to tolerate even unavoidable lapses in a boy of fourteen. The lad himself becomes painfully self-conscious. When he talks with elderly people he is either unduly forward, or else so unduly shy that he appears ashamed of his very existence.

Yet it is at this very age when in his heart of hearts a young lad most craves for recognition and love; and he becomes the devoted slave of any one who shows him consideration. But none dare openly love him, for that would be regarded as undue indulgence, and therefore bad for the boy. So, what with scolding and chiding, he becomes very much like a stray dog that has lost his master.

For a boy of fourteen his own home is the only Paradise. To live in a strange house with strange people is little short of torture, while the height of bliss is to receive the kind looks of women, and never to be slighted by them.

It was anguish to Phatik to be the unwelcome guest in his aunts house, despised by this elderly woman, and slighted, on every occasion. If she ever asked him to do anything for her, he would be so overjoyed that he would overdo it; and then she would tell him not to be so stupid, but to get on with his lessons.

The cramped atmosphere of neglect in his aunts house oppressed Phatik so much that he felt that he could hardly breathe. He wanted to go out into the open country and fill his lungs and breathe freely. But there was no open country to go to. Surrounded on all sides by Calcutta houses and walls, be would dream night after night of his village home, and long to be back there. He remembered the glorious meadow where he used to By his kite all day long; the broad river-banks where he would wander about the livelong day singing and shouting for joy; the narrow brook where he could go and dive and swim at any time he liked. He thought of his band of boy companions over whom he was despot; and, above all, the memory of that tyrant mother of his, who had such a prejudice against him, occupied him day and night. A kind of physical love like that of animals; a longing to be in the presence of the one who is loved; an inexpressible wistfulness during absence; a silent cry of the inmost heart for the mother, like the lowing of a calf in the twilight;-this love, which was almost an animal instinct, agitated the shy, nervous, lean, uncouth and ugly boy. No one could understand it, but it preyed upon his mind continually.

There was no more backward boy in the whole school than Phatik. He gaped and remained silent when the teacher asked him a question, and like an overladen **** patiently suffered all the blows that came down on his back. When other boys were out at play, he stood wistfully by the window and gazed at the roofs of the distant houses. And if by chance he espied children playing on the open terrace of any roof, his heart would ache with longing.

One day he summoned up all his courage, and asked his uncle: Uncle, when can I go home?

His uncle answered; Wait till the holidays come. But the holidays would not come till November, and there was a long time still to wait.

One day Phatik lost his lesson-book. Even with the help of books he had found it very difficult indeed to prepare his lesson. Now it was impossible. Day after day the teacher would cane him unmercifully. His condition became so abjectly miserable that even his cousins were ashamed to own him. They began to jeer and insult him more than the other boys. He went to his aunt at last, and told her that he bad lost his book.

His aunt pursed her lips in contempt, and said: You great clumsy, country lout. How can I afford, with all my family, to buy you new books five times a month?

That night, on his way back from school, Phatik had a bad headache with a fit of shivering. He felt he was going to have an attack of malarial fever. His one great fear was that he would be a nuisance to his aunt.

The next morning Phatik was nowhere to be seen. All searches in the neighborhood proved futile. The rain had been pouring in torrents all night, and those who went out in search of the boy got drenched through to the skin. At last Bisbamber asked help from the police.

At the end of the day a police van stopped at the door before the house. It was still raining and the streets were all flooded. Two constables brought out Phatik in their arms and placed him before Bishamber. He was wet through from head to foot, muddy all over, his face and eyes flushed red with fever, and his limbs all trembling. Bishamber carried him in his arms, and took him into the inner apartments. When his wife saw him, she exclaimed; What a heap of trouble this boy has given us. Hadnt you better send him home ?

Phatik heard her words, and sobbed out loud: Uncle, I was just going home; but they dragged me back again,

The fever rose very high, and all that night the boy was delirious. Bishamber brought in a doctor. Phatik opened his eyes flushed with fever, and looked up to the ceiling, and said vacantly: Uncle, have the holidays come yet? May I go home?

Bishamber wiped the tears from his own eyes, and took Phatiks lean and burning hands in his own, and sat by him through the night. The boy began again to mutter. At last his voice became excited: Mother, he cried, dont beat me like that! Mother! I am telling the truth!

The next day Phatik became conscious for a short time. He turned his eyes about the room, as if expecting some one to come. At last, with an air of disappointment, his head sank back on the pillow. He turned his face to the wall with a deep sigh.

Bishamber knew his thoughts, and, bending down his head, whispered: Phatik, I have sent for your mother. The day went by. The doctor said in a troubled voice that the boys condition was very critical.

Phatik began to cry out; By the mark! three fathoms. By the mark four fathoms. By the mark-. He had heard the sailor on the river- steamer calling out the mark on the plumb-line. Now he was himself plumbing an unfathomable sea.

Later in the day Phatiks mother burst into the room like a whirlwind, and began to toss from side to side and moan and cry in a loud voice.

Bishamber tried to calm her agitation, but she flung herself on the bed, and cried: Phatik, my darling, my darling.

Phatik stopped his restless movements for a moment. His hands ceased beating up and down. He said: Eh?

The mother cried again: Phatik, my darling, my darling.

Phatik very slowly turned his head and, without seeing anybody, said: Mother, the holidays have come.

4
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Homecoming
,
842:My fancies are fireflies,
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.

he voice of wayside pansies,
that do not attract the careless glance,
murmurs in these desultory lines.

In the drowsy dark caves of the mind
dreams build their nest with fragments
dropped from day's caravan.

Spring scatters the petals of flowers
that are not for the fruits of the future,
but for the moment's whim.

Joy freed from the bond of earth's slumber
rushes into numberless leaves,
and dances in the air for a day.

My words that are slight
my lightly dance upon time's waves
when my works havy with import have gone down.

Mind's underground moths
grow filmy wings
and take a farewell flight
in the sunset sky.

The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.

My thoughts, like spark, ride on winged surprises,
carrying a single laughter.
The tree gazes in love at its own beautiful shadow
which yet it never can grasp.

Let my love, like sunlight, surround you
and yet give you illumined freedom.

Days are coloured vbubbles
that float upon the surface of fathomless night.

My offerings are too timid to claim your remembrance,
and therefore you may remember them.

Leave out my name from the gift
if it be a burden,
but keep my song.

April, like a child,
writes hieroglyphs on dust with flowers,
wipes them away and forgets.

Memory, the priestess,
kills the present
and offers its heart to the shrine of the dead past.

From the solemn gloom of the temple
children run out to sit in the dust,
God watches them play
and forgets the priest.

My mind starts up at some flash
on the flow of its thoughts
like a brook at a sudden liquid note of its own
that is never repeated.

In the mountain, stillness surges up
to explore its own height;
in the lake, movement stands still
to contemplate its own depth.

The departing night's one kiss
on the closed eyes of morning
glows in the star of dawn.

Maiden, thy beauty is like a fruit
which is yet to mature,
tense with an unyielding secret.

Sorrow that has lost its memory
is like the dumb dark hours
that have no bird songs
but only the cricket's chirp.

Bigotry tries to keep turth safe in its hand
with a grip that kills it.
Wishing to hearten a timid lamp
great night lights all her stars.

Though he holds in his arms the earth-bride,
the sky is ever immensely away.

God seeks comrades and claims love,
the Devil seeks slaves and claims obedience.

The soil in return for her service
keeps the tree tied to her,
the sky asks nothing and leaves it free.

Jewel-like immortal
does not boast of its length of years
but of the scintillating point of its moment.

The child ever dwells in the mystery of ageless time,
unobscured by the dust of history.

Alight laughter in the steps of creation
carries it swiftly across time.

One who was distant came near to me in the morning,
and still nearer when taken away by night.

White and pink oleanders meet
and make merry in different dialects.

When peace is active swepping its dirt, it is storm.

The lake lies low by the hill,
a tearful entreaty of love
at the foot of the inflexible.

There smiles the Divine Child
among his playthings of unmeaning clouds
and ephemeral lights and shadows.

The breeze whispers to the lotus,
"What is thy secret?"
"It is myself," says the lotus,
"Steal it and I disappear!"

The freedom of the storm and the bondage of the stem
join hands in the dance of swaying branches.

The jasmine's lisping of love to the sun is her flowers.

The tyrant claims freedom to kill freedom
and yet to keep it for himself.

Gods, tired of their paradise, envy man.

Clouds are hills in vapour,
hills are clouds in stone,
a phantasy in time's dream.

While God waits for His temple to be built of love,
men bring stones.

I touch God in my song
as the hill touches the far-away sea
with its waterfall.

Light finds her treasure of colours
through the antagonism of clouds.

My heart to-day smiles at its past night of tears
like a wet tree glistening in the sun
after the rain is over.

I have thanked the trees that have made my life fruitflul,
but have failed to remember the grass
that has ever kept it green.

The one without second is emptiness,
the other one makes it true.

Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty
that can modulate their isolation
into a harmony with the whole.

They expect thanks for the banished nest
because their cage is shapely and secure.

In love I pay my endless debt to thee
for what thou art.

The pond sends up its lyrics from its dark in lilies,
and the sun says, they are good.

Your calumny against the great is impious,
it hurts yourself;
against the small it is mean,
for it hurts the victim.

The first flower that blossomed on this earth
was an invitation to the unborn song.

Dawnthe many-coloured flowerfades,
and then the simple light-fruit,
the sun appears.

The muscle that has a doubt if its wisdom
throttles the voice that would cry.

The wind tries to take the flame by storm
only to blow it out.

Life's play is swift,
Life's playthings fall behind one by one
and are forgotten.

My flower, seek not thy paradise
in a fool's buttonhole.

Thou hast risen late, my crescent moon,
but my night bird is still awake to greet thee.

Darkness is the veiled bride
silently waiting for the errant light
to return to her bosom.

Trees are the earth's endless effort to
speak to the listening heaven.

The burden of self is lightened
when I laugh at myself.

The weak can be terrible
because they try furiously to appear strong.

The wind of heaven blows,
The anchor desperately clutches the mud,
and my boat is beating its breast against the chain.

The spirit of death is one,
the spirit of life is many,
Whe God is dead religion becomes one.

The blue of the sky longs for the earth's green,
the wind between them sighs, "Alas."
Day's pain muffled by its own glare,
burns among stars in the night.

The stars crowd round the virgin night
in silent awe at her loneliness
that can never be touched.

The cloud gives all its gold
to the departing sun
and greets the rising moon
with only a pale smile.

He who does good comes to the temple gate,
he who loves reaches the shrine.

Flower, have pity for the worm,
it is not a bee,
its love is a blunder and a burden.

With the ruins of terror's triumph
children build their doll's house.

The lamp waits through the long day of neglect
for the flame's kiss in the night.

Feathers in the dust lying lazily content
have forgotten their sky.

The flowers which is single
need not envy the thorns
that are numerous.

The world suffers most from the disinterested tyranny
of its well-wisher.

We gain freedom whrn we have paid the full price
for our right to live.

Your careless gifts of a moment,
like the meteors of an autumn night,
catch fire in the depth of my being.

The faith waiting in the heart of a seed
promises a miracle of life
which it cannot prove at once.

Spring hesitates at winter's door,
but the mango blossom rashly runs our to him
before her time and meets her doom.

The world is the ever-changing foam
thet floats on the surface of a sea of silence.

The two separated shores mingle their voices
in a song of unfathomed tears.

As a river in the sea,
work finds its fulfilment
in the depth of leisure.

I lingered on my way till thy cherry tree lost ist bossom,
but the azalea brins to me, my love, thy forgiveness.

Thy shy little pomegranate bud,
blushing to-day behind her veil,
will burst into a passionate flower
to-morrow when I am away.

The clumsiness of power spoils the key,
and uses the pickaxe.

Birth is from the mystery of night
into the grerater mystery of day.

These paper boats of mine are meant to dance
on the ripples of hours,
and not to reach any destination.

Migratory songs wing from my heart
and seek their nests in your voice of love.

The sea of danger, doubt and denial
around man's little island of certainty
challenges him to dare the unknown.

Love punishes when it forgives,
and injured beauty by its awful silence.

You live alone and unrecompensed
because they are afraid of your great worth.

The same sun is newly born in new lands
in a ring of endless dawns.

God is world is ever renewed by death,
a Titan's ever crushed by its own existence.

The glow-worm while exploring the dust
never knows that stars are in the sky.

The tree is of to-day, the flower is old,
it brings with it the message
of the immemorial seed.

Each rose that comes brings me greetings
from the Rose of an eternal spring.
God honours me when I work,
He loves me when I sing.

My love of to-day finds no home
in the nest deserted by yesterday's love.

The fire of pain tracse for my soul
a luminous path across her sorrow.

The grass survives the hill
through its resurrections from countless deaths.

Thou hast vanished from my reach
leaving an impalpable touch in the blue of the sky,
an invisible image in the wind moving
among the shadows.

In pity for the desolate branch
spring leaves to it a kiss that fluttered in a lonely leaf.

The shy shadow in the farden
loves the sun in silence,
Flowers guess the secret, and mile,
while the leaves whisper.

I leave no trace of wings in the air,
but I am glad I have had my flight.

The fireflies, twinkling among leaves,
make the stars wonder.

The mountain remains unmoved
at its seeming defeat by the mist.

While the rose said to the sun,
"I shall ever remember thee,"
her petals fell to the dust.

Hills are the earth's gesture of despair
for the unreachable.

Though the thorn in thy flower pricked me,
O Beauty,
I am grateful.

The world knows that the few
are more than the many.

Let not my love be a burden on you, my friend,
know that it pays itself.

Dawn plays her lute before the gate of darkness,
and is content to vanish when the sun comes out.

Beauty is truth's smile
when she beholds her own face
in a perfect mirror.

The dew-drop knows the sun
only within its own tiny orb.

Forlorn thoughts from the forsaken hives of all ages,
swarming in the air, hum round my heart
and seek my voice.

The desert is imprisoned in the wall
of its unbounded barrenness.

In the thrill of little leaves
I see the air's invisible dance,
and in their glimmering
the secret heart-beats of the sky.

You are like a flowering tree,
amazed when I praise you for your gifts.

The earth's sacrifical fire
flames up in her trees,
scattering sparks in flowers.

Foretsts, the clouds of earth,
hold up to the sky their silence,
and clouds from above come down
in resonant showers.

The world speaks to me in pictures,
my soul answers in music.

The sky tells its beads all night
on the countless stars
in memory of the sun.

The darkness of night, like pain, is dumb,
the darkness of dawn, like peace, is silent.

Pride engraves his frowns in stones,
loe offers her surrender in flowers.

The obsequious brush curtails truth
in diference to the canvas which is narrow.

The hill in its longing for the far-away sky
wishes to be like the cloud
with its endless urge of seeking.

To justify their own spilling of ink
they spell the day as night.

Profit smiles on goodness
when the good is profitable.

In its swelling pride
the bubble doubts the turth of the sea,
and laughs and bursts into emptiness.

Love is an endless mystery,
for it has nothing else to explain its.

My clouds, sorrowing in the dark,
forget that they themselves
have hidden the sun.

Man discovers his own wealth
when God comes to ask gifts of him.

You leave your memory as a flame
to my lonely lamp of separation.

I came to offer thee a flower,
but thou must have all my garden,
It is thine.

The picturea memory of light
treasured by the shadow.

It is easy to make faces at the sun,
He is exposed by his own light in all
directions.

History slowly smothers its truth,
but hastily struggles to revive it
in the terrible penance of pain.

My work is rewarded in daily wages,
I wait for my final value in love.

Beauty knows to say, "Enough,"
barbarism clamours for still more.

God loves to see in me, not his servant,
but himself who serves all.

The darkness of night is in harmony with day,
the morning of mist is discordant.

In the bounteous time of roses love is wine,
it is food in the famished hour
when their petals are shed.

An unknown flower in a strange land
speaks to the poet:
"Are we not of the same soil, my lover?"

I am able to love my God
because He gives me freedom to deny Him.

My untuned strings beg for music
in their anguished cry of shame.

The worm thinks it strange and foolish
that man does not eat his books.

The clouded sky to-day bears the visior
of the shadow of a divine sadness
on the forehead of brooding eternity.

The shade of my tree is for passers-by,
its fruit for the one for whom I wait.

Flushed with the glow of sunset
earth seems like a ripe fruit
ready to be harvested by night.

Light accepts darkness for his spouse
for the sake of creation.

The reed waits for his master's breath,
the Master goes seeking for his reed.

To the blind pen the hand that writes is unreal,
its writing unmeaning.

The sea smites his own barren breast
because he has no flowers to offer to the moon.

The greed for fruit misses the flower.

God in His temple of stars
waits for man to bring him his lamp.

The fire restrained in the tree fashions flowers.
Released from bonds, the shameless flame
dies in barren ashes.

The sky sets no snare to capture the moon,
it is her own freedom which binds her.
The light that fills the sky
seeks its limit in a dew-drop on the grass.

Wealth is the burden of bigness,
Welfare the fulness of being.

The razor-blade is proud of its keenness
when it sneers at the sun.

The butterfly has leisure to love the lotus,
not the bee busily storing honey.

Child, thou bringest to my heart
the babble of the wind and the water,
the flower's speechless secrets, the clouds' dreams,
the mute gaze of wonder of the morning sky.

The rainbow among the clouds may be great
but the little butterfly among the bushes is greater.

The mist weaves her net round the morning,
captivates him, and makes him blind.

The Morning Star whispers to Dawn,
"Tell me that you are only for me."
"Yes," she answers,
"And also only for that nameless flower."

The sky remains infinitely vacant
for earth there to build its heaven with dreams.

Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt
at being told that it is a fragment
awaiting perfection.

Let the evening forgive the mistakes of the day
and thus win peace for herself.

Beauty smiles in the confinement of the bud,
in the heart of a sweet incompleteness.

Your flitting love lightly brushed with its wings
my sun-flower
and never asked if it was ready to surrender its honey.

Leaves are silences
around flowers which are their words.

The tree bears its thousand years
as one large majestic moment.

My offerings are not for the temple at the end of the road,
but for the wayside shrines
that surprise me at every bend.

Hour smile, my love, like the smell of a strange flower,
is simple and inexplicable.

Death laughs when the merit of the dead is exaggerated
for it swells his store with more than he can claim.

The sigh of the shore follows in vain
the breeze that hastens the ship across the sea.

Truth loves its limits,
for there it meets the beautiful.

Between the shores of Me and Thee
there is the loud ocean, my own surging self,
which I long to cross.

The right to possess boasts foolishly
of its right to enjoy.

The rose is a great deal more
than a blushing apology for the thorn.

Day offers to the silence of stars
his golden lute to be tuned
for the endless life.

The wise know how to teach,
the fool how to smite.

The centre is still and silent in the heart
of an enternal dance of circles.

The judge thinks that he is just when he compares
The oil of another's lamp
with the light of his own.

The captive flower in the King's wreath
smiles bitterly when the meadow-flower envies her.

Its store of snow is the hill's own burden,
its outpouring if streams is borne by all the world.

Listen to the prayer of the forest
for its freedom in flowers.

Let your love see me
even through the barrier of nearness.

The spirit of work in creation is there
to carry and help the spirit of play.

To carry the burden of the insturment,
count the cost of its material,
and never to know that it is for music,
is the tragedy of deaf life.

Faith is the bird that feels the light
and sings when the dawn is still dark.

I bring to thee, night, my day's empty cup,
to be cleansed with thy cool darkness
for a new morning's festival.

The mountain fir, in its rustling,
modulates the memory of its fights with the storm
into a hymn of peace.

God honoured me with his fight
when I was rebellious,
He ignored me when I was languid.

The sectarina thinks
that he has the sea
ladled into his private pond.

In the shady depth of life
are the lonely nests of memories
that shrink from words.

Let my love find its strength
in the service of day,
its peace in the union of night.

Life sends up in blades of grass
its silent hymn of praise
to the unnamed Light.

The stars of night are to me
the memorials of my day's faded flowers.

Open thy door to that which must go,
for the loss becomes unseemly when obstructed.

True end is not in the reaching of the limit,
but in a completion which is limitless.

The shore whispers to the sea:
"Write to me what thy waves struggle to say."
The sea writes in foam again and again
and wipes off the lines in a boisterous despair.

Let the touch ofthy finger thrill my life's strings
and make the music thine and mine.

The inner world rounded in my life like a fruit,
matured in joy and sorrow,
will drop into the darkness of the orogonal soil
for some further course of creation.

Form is in Matter, rhythm in Force,
meaning in the Person.

There are seekers of wisdom and seekers of wealth,
I seek thy company so that I may sing.

As the tree its leaves, I shed my words on the earth,
let my thoughts unuttered flower in thy silence.

My faith in truth, my vision of the perfect,
help thee, Master, in thy creation.

All the delights that I have felt
in life's fruits and flowers
let me offer to thee at the end of the feast,
in a perfect union of love.

Some have thought deeply and explored the
meaning of thy truth,
and they are great;
I have listened to catch the music of thy play,
and I am glad.

The tree is a winged spirit
released from the bondage of seed,
pursuing its adventure of life
across the unknown.

The lotus offers its beauty to the heaven,
the grass its service to the earth.

The sun's kiss mellows into abandonment
the miserliness of the green fruit clinging to its stem.

The flame met the earthen lamp in me,
and what a great marvel of light!

Mistakes live in the neighbourhood of truth
and therefore delude us.

The cloud laughed at the rainbow
saying that is was an upstart
gaudy in its emptiness.
The rainbow calmly answered,
"I am as inevitably real as tha sun himself."

Let me not grope in vain in the dark
but keep my mind still in the faith
that the day will break
and truth will appear
in its simplicity.

Through the silent night
I hear the returning vagrant hopes of the morning
knock at my heart.

My new love comes
bringing to me the eternal wealth of the old.

The earth gazes at the moon and wonders
that she sould have all her music in her smile.

Day with its glare of curiosity
puts the stars to flight.

My mind has itstrue union with thee, O sky,
at the window which is mine own,
and not in the open
where thou hast thy sole kingdom.

Man claims God's flowers as his own
when he weaves them in a garland.

The buried city, laid bare to the sun of a new age,
is ashamed that is has lost all its song.

Like my heart's pain that has long missed its meaning,
the sun's rays robed in dark
hide themselves under the ground.
Like my heart'spain at love's sudden touch,
they change their veil at the spring's call
and come out in the carnival of colours,
in flowers and leaves.

My life's empty flute
waits for its final music
like the primal darkness
before the stars came out.

Emancipation from the bondage of the soil
is no freedom for the tree.

The tapestry of life's story is woven
with the threads of life's ties
ever joining and breaking.

Those thoughts of mine that are never captured by words
perch upon my song and dance.

My soul to-night loses itself
in the silent heart of a tree
standing alone among the whispers of immensity.

Pearl shells cast up by the sea
on death's barren beach,
a magnificent wastefulness of creative life.

The sunlight opens for me the word's gate,
love's light its terasure.

My life like the reed with ist stops,
has its play od colours
through the gaps in its hopes and gains.

Let not my thanks to thee
rob my silence of its fuller homage.

Life's aspirations come
in the guise of children.

The faded flower sighs
that the spring has vanished for ever.

In my life's garden
my wealth has been of the shadows and lights
that are never gathered and stored.

The fruit that I Have gained for ever
is thet which thou hast accepted.

The jasmine knows the sun to be her brother
in the heaven.

Light is young, the ancient light;
shadows are of the moment, they are born old.

I feel that the ferry of my songs at the day's end
will brong me across to the other shore
from where I shall see.

The butterfly flitting from flower to flower
ever remains mine,
I lose the one that is netted by me.

Your voice, free bird, reaches my sleeping nest,
and my drowsy wings dream
of a voyage to the light
above the clouds.

I miss the meaning of my own part
in the play of life
because I know not of the parts
that others play.

The flower sheds all its petals
and finds the fruit.

I leave my songs behind me
to the bloom of the ever-returning honeysuckles
and the joy of the wind from the south.

Dead leaves when they lose themselves in soil
take part in the life of the forest.

The mind ever seeks its words
from its sounds and silence
as the sky from its darkness and light.

The unseen dark plays on his flute
and the rhythm of light
eddies into stars and suns,
into thoughts and reams.

My songs are to sing
that I have loved Thy singing.

When the voice of the Silent touches my words
I know him and therefore I know myself.

My last salutations are to them
who knew me imperfect and loved me.

Love's gift cannot be given,
it waits to be accepted.

When death comes and whispers to me,
"Thy days are ended,"
let me say to him, "I have lived in love
and not in mere time."
He will ask, "Will thy songs remain?"
I shall say, "I know not, but this I know
that often when I sang I found my eternity."

"Let me light my lamp,"
say the star,
'and never debate
if it will help to remove the darkness."

Before the end of my journey
may I reach within myself
the one which is the all,
leaving the outer shell
to float away with the drifting multitude
upon the current of chance and change.
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Fireflies
,
843:1.

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.
2.

When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.

All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony - and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the sea.

I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a singer I come before thy presence.

I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet which I could never aspire to reach.

Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord.
3.

I know not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silent amazement.

The light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath of thy music runs from sky to sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks through all stony obstacles and rushes on.

My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for a voice. I would speak, but speech breaks not into song, and I cry out baffled. Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music, my master!
4.

Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing that thy living touch is upon all my limbs.

I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind.

I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart.

And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it is thy power gives me strength to act.
5.

I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.

Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite, and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.

Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.

Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.
6.

Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it droop and drop into the dust.

I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I am aware, and the time of offering go by.

Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flower in thy service and pluck it while there is time.

7.

My song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would come between thee and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers.

My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
8.

The child who is decked with prince's robes and who has jewelled chains round his neck loses all pleasure in his play; his dress hampers him at every step.

In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust he keeps himself from the world, and is afraid even to move.

Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keeps one shut off from the healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right of entrance to the great fair of common human life.
9.

O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders! O beggar, to come beg at thy own door!

Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all, and never look behind in regret.

Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath. It is unholy - take not thy gifts through its unclean hands. Accept only what is offered by sacred love.
10.

Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet where live the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.

When I try to bow to thee, my obeisance cannot reach down to the depth where thy feet rest among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.

Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes of the humble among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.

My heart can never find its way to where thou keepest company with the companionless among the poorest, the lowliest, and the lost.
11.

Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!

He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the pathmaker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower, and his garment is covered with dust. Put of thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil!

Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found? Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation; he is bound with us all for ever.

Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense! What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained? Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.
12.

The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.

I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet.

It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, and that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune.

The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.

My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said 'Here art thou!'

The question and the cry 'Oh, where?' melt into tears of a thousand streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance 'I am!'
13.

The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.

The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by. I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.

The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor; but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.

I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet.
14.

My desires are many and my cry is pitiful, but ever didst thou save me by hard refusals; and this strong mercy has been wrought into my life through and through.

Day by day thou art making me worthy of the simple, great gifts that thou gavest to me unasked - this sky and the light, this body and the life and the mind - saving me from perils of overmuch desire.

There are times when I languidly linger and times when I awaken and hurry in search of my goal; but cruelly thou hidest thyself from before me.

Day by day thou art making me worthy of thy full acceptance by refusing me ever and anon, saving me from perils of weak, uncertain desire.
15.

I am here to sing thee songs. In this hall of thine I have a corner seat.

In thy world I have no work to do; my useless life can only break out in tunes without a purpose.

When the hour strikes for thy silent worship at the dark temple of midnight, command me, my master, to stand before thee to sing.

When in the morning air the golden harp is tuned, honour me, commanding my presence.
16.

I have had my invitation to this world's festival, and thus my life has been blessed. My eyes have seen and my ears have heard.

It was my part at this feast to play upon my instrument, and I have done all I could.

Now, I ask, has the time come at last when I may go in and see thy face and offer thee my silent salutation?
17.

I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands. That is why it is so late and why I have been guilty of such omissions.

They come with their laws and their codes to bind me fast; but I evade them ever, for I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands.

People blame me and call me heedless; I doubt not they are right in their blame.

The market day is over and work is all done for the busy. Those who came to call me in vain have gone back in anger. I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands.
18.

Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens. Ah, love, why dost thou let me wait outside at the door all alone?

In the busy moments of the noontide work I am with the crowd, but on this dark lonely day it is only for thee that I hope.

If thou showest me not thy face, if thou leavest me wholly aside, I know not how I am to pass these long, rainy hours.

I keep gazing on the far-away gloom of the sky, and my heart wanders wailing with the restless wind.
19.

If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its head bent low with patience.

The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy voice pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.

Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds' nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.
20.

On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying, and I knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.

Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.

That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to me that is was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.

I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.
21.

I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the shore - Alas for me!

The spring has done its flowering and taken leave. And now with the burden of faded futile flowers I wait and linger.

The waves have become clamorous, and upon the bank in the shady lane the yellow leaves flutter and fall.

What emptiness do you gaze upon! Do you not feel a thrill passing through the air with the notes of the far-away song floating from the other shore?
22.

In the deep shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thou walkest, silent as night, eluding all watchers.

Today the morning has closed its eyes, heedless of the insistent calls of the loud east wind, and a thick veil has been drawn over the ever-wakeful blue sky.

The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are all shut at every house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted street. Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house - do not pass by like a dream.
23.

Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend? The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look out on the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading thy course to come to me, my friend?
24.

If the day is done, if birds sing no more, if the wind has flagged tired, then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me, even as thou hast wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep and tenderly closed the petals of the drooping lotus at dusk.

From the traveller, whose sack of provisions is empty before the voyage is ended, whose garment is torn and dustladen, whose strength is exhausted, remove shame and poverty, and renew his life like a flower under the cover of thy kindly night.
25.

In the night of weariness let me give myself up to sleep without struggle, resting my trust upon thee.

Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for thy worship.

It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the day to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.

26.

He came and sat by my side but I woke not. What a cursed sleep it was, O miserable me!

He came when the night was still; he had his harp in his hands, and my dreams became resonant with its melodies.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?
27.

Light, oh where is the light? Kindle it with the burning fire of desire!

There is the lamp but never a flicker of a flame - is such thy fate, my heart? Ah, death were better by far for thee!

Misery knocks at thy door, and her message is that thy lord is wakeful, and he calls thee to the love-tryst through the darkness of night.

The sky is overcast with clouds and the rain is ceaseless. I know not what this is that stirs in me - I know not its meaning.

A moment's flash of lightning drags down a deeper gloom on my sight, and my heart gropes for the path to where the music of the night calls me.

Light, oh where is the light! Kindle it with the burning fire of desire! It thunders and the wind rushes screaming through the void. The night is black as a black stone. Let not the hours pass by in the dark. Kindle the lamp of love with thy life.
28.

Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when I try to break them.

Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed.

I am certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills my room.

The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate it, yet hug it in love.

My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted.
29.

He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon. I am ever busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into the sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.

I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand lest a least hole should be left in this name; and for all the care I take I lose sight of my true being.
30.

I came out alone on my way to my tryst. But who is this that follows me in the silent dark?

I move aside to avoid his presence but I escape him not.

He makes the dust rise from the earth with his swagger; he adds his loud voice to every word that I utter.

He is my own little self, my lord, he knows no shame; but I am ashamed to come to thy door in his company.
31.

'Prisoner, tell me, who was it that bound you?'

'It was my master,' said the prisoner. 'I thought I could outdo everybody in the world in wealth and power, and I amassed in my own treasure-house the money due to my king. When sleep overcame me I lay upon the bad that was for my lord, and on waking up I found I was a prisoner in my own treasure-house.'

'Prisoner, tell me, who was it that wrought this unbreakable chain?'

'It was I,' said the prisoner, 'who forged this chain very carefully. I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive leaving me in a freedom undisturbed. Thus night and day I worked at the chain with huge fires and cruel hard strokes. When at last the work was done and the links were complete and unbreakable, I found that it held me in its grip.'
32.

By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in this world. But it is otherwise with thy love which is greater than theirs, and thou keepest me free.

Lest I forget them they never venture to leave me alone. But day passes by after day and thou art not seen.

If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart, thy love for me still waits for my love.
33.

When it was day they came into my house and said, 'We shall only take the smallest room here.'

They said, 'We shall help you in the worship of your God and humbly accept only our own share in his grace'; and then they took their seat in a corner and they sat quiet and meek.

But in the darkness of night I find they break into my sacred shrine, strong and turbulent, and snatch with unholy greed the offerings from God's altar.
34.

Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all.

Let only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel thee on every side, and come to thee in everything, and offer to thee my love every moment.

Let only that little be left of me whereby I may never hide thee.

Let only that little of my fetters be left whereby I am bound with thy will, and thy purpose is carried out in my life - and that is the fetter of thy love.
35.

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high; Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls; Where words come out from the depth of truth; Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection; Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit; Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action- Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
36.

This is my prayer to thee, my lord - strike, strike at the root of penury in my heart. Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows. Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service. Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might. Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles. And give me the strength to surrender my strength to thy will with love.
37.

I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power, - that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me. And when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart; and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.
38.

That I want thee, only thee - let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core.

As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry - 'I want thee, only thee'.

As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is - 'I want thee, only thee'.
39.

When the heart is hard and parched up, come upon me with a shower of mercy.

When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song.

When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides shutting me out from beyond, come to me, my lord of silence, with thy peace and rest.

When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open the door, my king, and come with the ceremony of a king.

When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O thou holy one, thou wakeful, come with thy light and thy thunder.
40.

The rain has held back for days and days, my God, in my arid heart. The horizon is fiercely naked - not the thinnest cover of a soft cloud, not the vaguest hint of a distant cool shower.

Send thy angry storm, dark with death, if it is thy wish, and with lashes of lightning startle the sky from end to end.

But call back, my lord, call back this pervading silent heat, still and keen and cruel, burning the heart with dire despair.

Let the cloud of grace bend low from above like the tearful look of the mother on the day of the father's wrath.
41.

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?
42.

Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat, only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our pilgrimage to no country and to no end.

In that shoreless ocean, at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies, free as waves, free from all bondage of words.

Is the time not come yet? Are there works still to do? Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.

Who knows when the chains will be off, and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset, vanish into the night?
43.

The day was when I did not keep myself in readiness for thee; and entering my heart unbidden even as one of the common crowd, unknown to me, my king, thou didst press the signet of eternity upon many a fleeting moment of my life.

And today when by chance I light upon them and see thy signature, I find they have lain scattered in the dust mixed with the memory of joys and sorrows of my trivial days forgotten.

Thou didst not turn in contempt from my childish play among dust, and the steps that I heard in my playroom are the same that are echoing from star to star.
44.

This is my delight, thus to wait and watch at the wayside where shadow chases light and the rain comes in the wake of the summer.

Messengers, with tidings from unknown skies, greet me and speed along the road. My heart is glad within, and the breath of the passing breeze is sweet.

From dawn till dusk I sit here before my door, and I know that of a sudden the happy moment will arrive when I shall see.

In the meanwhile I smile and I sing all alone. In the meanwhile the air is filling with the perfume of promise.
45.

Have you not heard his silent steps? He comes, comes, ever comes.

Every moment and every age, every day and every night he comes, comes, ever comes.

Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind, but all their notes have always proclaimed, 'He comes, comes, ever comes.'

In the fragrant days of sunny April through the forest path he comes, comes, ever comes.

In the rainy gloom of July nights on the thundering chariot of clouds he comes, comes, ever comes.

In sorrow after sorrow it is his steps that press upon my heart, and it is the golden touch of his feet that makes my joy to shine.

-

46.

I know not from what distant time thou art ever coming nearer to meet me. Thy sun and stars can never keep thee hidden from me for aye.

In many a morning and eve thy footsteps have been heard and thy messenger has come within my heart and called me in secret.

I know not only why today my life is all astir, and a feeling of tremulous joy is passing through my heart.

It is as if the time were come to wind up my work, and I feel in the air a faint smell of thy sweet presence.
47.

The night is nearly spent waiting for him in vain. I fear lest in the morning he suddenly come to my door when I have fallen asleep wearied out. Oh friends, leave the way open to him - forbid him not.

If the sounds of his steps does not wake me, do not try to rouse me, I pray. I wish not to be called from my sleep by the clamorous choir of birds, by the riot of wind at the festival of morning light. Let me sleep undisturbed even if my lord comes of a sudden to my door.

Ah, my sleep, precious sleep, which only waits for his touch to vanish. Ah, my closed eyes that would open their lids only to the light of his smile when he stands before me like a dream emerging from darkness of sleep.

Let him appear before my sight as the first of all lights and all forms. The first thrill of joy to my awakened soul let it come from his glance. And let my return to myself be immediate return to him.
48.

The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; and the flowers were all merry by the roadside; and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds while we busily went on our way and paid no heed.

We sang no glad songs nor played; we went not to the village for barter; we spoke not a word nor smiled; we lingered not on the way. We quickened our pave more and more as the time sped by.

The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade. Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon. The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree, and I laid myself down by the water and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.

My companions laughed at me in scorn; they held their heads high and hurried on; they never looked back nor rested; they vanished in the distant blue haze. They crossed many meadows and hills, and passed through strange, far-away countries. All honour to you, heroic host of the interminable path! Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise, but found no response in me. I gave myself up for lost in the depth of a glad humiliation - in the shadow of a dim delight.

The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom slowly spread over my heart. I forgot for what I had travelled, and I surrendered my mind without struggle to the maze of shadows and songs.

At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes, I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile. How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome, and the struggle to reach thee was hard!
49.

You came down from your throne and stood at my cottage door.

I was singing all alone in a corner, and the melody caught your ear. You came down and stood at my cottage door.

Masters are many in your hall, and songs are sung there at all hours. But the simple carol of this novice struck at your love. One plaintive little strain mingled with the great music of the world, and with a flower for a prize you came down and stopped at my cottage door.

50.

I had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path, when thy golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dream and I wondered who was this King of all kings!

My hopes rose high and methought my evil days were at an end, and I stood waiting for alms to be given unasked and for wealth scattered on all sides in the dust.

The chariot stopped where I stood. Thy glance fell on me and thou camest down with a smile. I felt that the luck of my life had come at last. Then of a sudden thou didst hold out thy right hand and say 'What hast thou to give to me?'

Ah, what a kingly jest was it to open thy palm to a beggar to beg! I was confused and stood undecided, and then from my wallet I slowly took out the least little grain of corn and gave it to thee.

But how great my surprise when at the day's end I emptied my bag on the floor to find a least little gram of gold among the poor heap. I bitterly wept and wished that I had had the heart to give thee my all.
51.

The night darkened. Our day's works had been done. We thought that the last guest had arrived for the night and the doors in the village were all shut. Only some said the king was to come. We laughed and said 'No, it cannot be!'

It seemed there were knocks at the door and we said it was nothing but the wind. We put out the lamps and lay down to sleep. Only some said, 'It is the messenger!' We laughed and said 'No, it must be the wind!'

There came a sound in the dead of the night. We sleepily thought it was the distant thunder. The earth shook, the walls rocked, and it troubled us in our sleep. Only some said it was the sound of wheels. We said in a drowsy murmur, 'No, it must be the rumbling of clouds!'

The night was still dark when the drum sounded. The voice came 'Wake up! delay not!' We pressed our hands on our hearts and shuddered with fear. Some said, 'Lo, there is the king's flag!' We stood up on our feet and cried 'There is no time for delay!'

The king has come - but where are lights, where are wreaths? Where is the throne to seat him? Oh, shame! Oh utter shame! Where is the hall, the decorations? Someone has said, 'Vain is this cry! Greet him with empty hands, lead him into thy rooms all bare!'

Open the doors, let the conch-shells be sounded! in the depth of the night has come the king of our dark, dreary house. The thunder roars in the sky. The darkness shudders with lightning. Bring out thy tattered piece of mat and spread it in the courtyard. With the storm has come of a sudden our king of the fearful night.
52.

I thought I should ask of thee - but I dared not - the rose wreath thou hadst on thy neck. Thus I waited for the morning, when thou didst depart, to find a few fragments on the bed. And like a beggar I searched in the dawn only for a stray petal or two.

Ah me, what is it I find? What token left of thy love? It is no flower, no spices, no vase of perfumed water. It is thy mighty sword, flashing as a flame, heavy as a bolt of thunder. The young light of morning comes through the window and spread itself upon thy bed. The morning bird twitters and asks, 'Woman, what hast thou got?' No, it is no flower, nor spices, nor vase of perfumed water - it is thy dreadful sword.

I sit and muse in wonder, what gift is this of thine. I can find no place to hide it. I am ashamed to wear it, frail as I am, and it hurts me when press it to my bosom. Yet shall I bear in my heart this honour of the burden of pain, this gift of thine.

From now there shall be no fear left for me in this world, and thou shalt be victorious in all my strife. Thou hast left death for my companion and I shall crown him with my life. Thy sword is with me to cut asunder my bonds, and there shall be no fear left for me in the world.

From now I leave off all petty decorations. Lord of my heart, no more shall there be for me waiting and weeping in corners, no more coyness and sweetness of demeanour. Thou hast given me thy sword for adornment. No more doll's decorations for me!
53.

Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with stars and cunningly wrought in myriad-coloured jewels. But more beautiful to me thy sword with its curve of lightning like the outspread wings of the divine bird of Vishnu, perfectly poised in the angry red light of the sunset.

It quivers like the one last response of life in ecstasy of pain at the final stroke of death; it shines like the pure flame of being burning up earty sense with one fierce flash.

Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with starry gems; but thy sword, O lord of thunder, is wrought with uttermost beauty, terrible to behold or think of.
54.

I asked nothing from thee; I uttered not my name to thine ear. When thou took'st thy leave I stood silent. I was alone by the well where the shadow of the tree fell aslant, and the women had gone home with their brown earthen pitchers full to the brim. They called me and shouted, 'Come with us, the morning is wearing on to noon.' But I languidly lingered awhile lost in the midst of vague musings.

I heard not thy steps as thou camest. Thine eyes were sad when they fell on me; thy voice was tired as thou spokest low - 'Ah, I am a thirsty traveller.' I started up from my day-dreams and poured water from my jar on thy joined palms. The leaves rustled overhead; the cuckoo sang from the unseen dark, and perfume of babla flowers came from the bend of the road.

I stood speecess with shame when my name thou didst ask. Indeed, what had I done for thee to keep me in remembrance? But the memory that I could give water to thee to allay thy thirst will cling to my heart and enfold it in sweetness. The morning hour is late, the bird sings in weary notes, neem leaves rustle overhead and I sit and think and think.

55.

Languor is upon your heart and the slumber is still on your eyes.

Has not the word come to you that the flower is reigning in splendour among thorns? Wake, oh awaken! let not the time pass in vain!

At the end of the stony path, in the country of virgin solitude, my friend is sitting all alone. Deceive him not. Wake, oh awaken!

What if the sky pants and trembles with the heat of the midday sun - what if the burning sand spreads its mantle of thirst -

Is there no joy in the deep of your heart? At every footfall of yours, will not the harp of the road break out in sweet music of pain?
56.

Thus it is that thy joy in me is so full. Thus it is that thou hast come down to me. O thou lord of all heavens, where would be thy love if I were not?

Thou hast taken me as thy partner of all this wealth. In my heart is the endless play of thy delight. In my life thy will is ever taking shape.

And for this, thou who art the King of kings hast decked thyself in beauty to captivate my heart. And for this thy love loses itself in the love of thy lover, and there art thou seen in the perfect union of two.
57.

Light, my light, the world-filling light, the eye-kissing light, heart-sweetening light!

Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the centre of my life; the light strikes, my darling, the chords of my love; the sky opens, the wind runs wild, laughter passes over the earth.

The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light. Lilies and jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light.

The light is shattered into gold on every cloud, my darling, and it scatters gems in profusion.

Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling, and gladness without measure. The heaven's river has drowned its banks and the flood of joy is abroad.
58.

Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song - the joy that makes the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass, the joy that sets the twin brothers, life and death, dancing over the wide world, the joy that sweeps in with the tempest, shaking and waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with its tears on the open red lotus of pain, and the joy that throws everything it has upon the dust, and knows not a word.
59.

Yes, I know, this is nothing but thy love, O beloved of my heart - this golden light that dances upon the leaves, these idle clouds sailing across the sky, this passing breeze leaving its coolness upon my forehead.

The morning light has flooded my eyes - this is thy message to my heart. Thy face is bent from above, thy eyes look down on my eyes, and my heart has touched thy feet.
60.

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.

They build their houses with sand and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.

They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. they seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.

The sea surges up with laughter and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the patess sky, ships get wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.
61.

The sleep that flits on baby's eyes - does anybody know from where it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where, in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms, there hang two timid buds of enchantment. From there it comes to kiss baby's eyes.

The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps - does anybody know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumour that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning - the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps.

The sweet, soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs - does anybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes, when the mother was a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent mystery of love - the sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed on baby's limbs.
62.

When I bring to you coloured toys, my child, I understand why there is such a play of colours on clouds, on water, and why flowers are painted in tints - when I give coloured toys to you, my child.

When I sing to make you dance I truly now why there is music in leaves, and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth - when I sing to make you dance.

When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands I know why there is honey in the cup of the flowers and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice - when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.

When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling, I surely understand what pleasure streams from the sky in morning light, and what delight that is that is which the summer breeze brings to my body - when I kiss you to make you smile.
63.

Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger.

I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter; I forget that there abides the old in the new, and that there also thou abidest.

Through birth and death, in this world or in others, wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same, the one companion of my endless life who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.

When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss of the touch of the one in the play of many.
64.

On the slope of the desolate river among tall grasses I asked her, 'Maiden, where do you go shading your lamp with your mantle? My house is all dark and lonesome - lend me your light!' she raised her dark eyes for a moment and looked at my face through the dusk. 'I have come to the river,' she said, 'to float my lamp on the stream when the daylight wanes in the west.' I stood alone among tall grasses and watched the timid flame of her lamp uselessly drifting in the tide.

In the silence of gathering night I asked her, 'Maiden, your lights are all lit - then where do you go with your lamp? My house is all dark and lonesome - lend me your light.' She raised her dark eyes on my face and stood for a moment doubtful. 'I have come,' she said at last, 'to dedicate my lamp to the sky.' I stood and watched her light uselessly burning in the void.

In the moonless gloom of midnight I ask her, 'Maiden, what is your quest, holding the lamp near your heart? My house is all dark and lonesome- - lend me your light.' She stopped for a minute and thought and gazed at my face in the dark. 'I have brought my light,' she said, 'to join the carnival of lamps.' I stood and watched her little lamp uselessly lost among lights.
65.

What divine drink wouldst thou have, my God, from this overflowing cup of my life?

My poet, is it thy delight to see thy creation through my eyes and to stand at the portals of my ears silently to listen to thine own eternal harmony?

Thy world is weaving words in my mind and thy joy is adding music to them. Thou givest thyself to me in love and then feelest thine own entire sweetness in me.
66.

She who ever had remained in the depth of my being, in the twilight of gleams and of glimpses; she who never opened her veils in the morning light, will be my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my final song.

Words have wooed yet failed to win her; persuasion has stretched to her its eager arms in vain.

I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my heart, and around her have risen and fallen the growth and decay of my life.

Over my thoughts and actions, my slumbers and dreams, she reigned yet dwelled alone and apart.

many a man knocked at my door and asked for her and turned away in despair.

There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face, and she remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition.
67.

Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well.

O thou beautiful, there in the nest is thy love that encloses the soul with colours and sounds and odours.

There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand bearing the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth.

And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted by herds, through trackless paths, carrying cool draughts of peace in her golden pitcher from the western ocean of rest.

But there, where spreads the infinite sky for the soul to take her flight in, reigns the stainless white radiance. There is no day nor night, nor form nor colour, and never, never a word.
68.

Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretched and stands at my door the livelong day to carry back to thy feet clouds made of my tears and sighs and songs.

With fond delight thou wrappest about thy starry breast that mantle of misty cloud, turning it into numberless shapes and folds and colouring it with hues everchanging.

It is so light and so fleeting, tender and tearful and dark, that is why thou lovest it, O thou spotless and serene. And that is why it may cover thy awful white light with its pathetic shadows.
69.

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
70.

Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness of this rhythm? to be tossed and lost and broken in the whirl of this fearful joy?

All things rush on, they stop not, they look not behind, no power can hold them back, they rush on.

Keeping steps with that restless, rapid music, seasons come dancing and pass away - colours, tunes, and perfumes pour in endless cascades in the abounding joy that scatters and gives up and dies every moment.
71.

That I should make much of myself and turn it on all sides, thus casting coloured shadows on thy radiance - such is thy maya.

Thou settest a barrier in thine own being and then callest thy severed self in myriad notes. This thy self-separation has taken body in me.

The poignant song is echoed through all the sky in many-coloured tears and smiles, alarms and hopes; waves rise up and sink again, dreams break and form. In me is thy own defeat of self.

This screen that thou hast raised is painted with innumerable figures with the brush of the night and the day. Behind it thy seat is woven in wondrous mysteries of curves, casting away all barren lines of straightness.

The great pageant of thee and me has overspread the sky. With the tune of thee and me all the air is vibrant, and all ages pass with the hiding and seeking of thee and me.
72.

He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches.

He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes and joyfully plays on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain.

He it is who weaves the web of this maya in evanescent hues of gold and silver, blue and green, and lets peep out through the folds his feet, at whose touch I forget myself.

Days come and ages pass, and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name, in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow.
73.

Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.

Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various colours and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.

My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame and place them before the altar of thy temple.

No, I will never shut the doors of my senses. The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.

Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.
74.

The day is no more, the shadow is upon the earth. It is time that I go to the stream to fill my pitcher.

The evening air is eager with the sad music of the water. Ah, it calls me out into the dusk. In the lonely lane there is no passer-by, the wind is up, the ripples are rampant in the river.

I know not if I shall come back home. I know not whom I shall chance to meet. There at the fording in the little boat the unknown man plays upon his lute.
75.

Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs and yet run back to thee undiminished.

The river has its everyday work to do and hastens through fields and hamlets; yet its incessant stream winds towards the washing of thy feet.

The flower sweetens the air with its perfume; yet its last service is to offer itself to thee.

Thy worship does not impoverish the world.

From the words of the poet men take what meanings please them; yet their last meaning points to thee.
76.

Day after day, O lord of my life, shall I stand before thee face to face. With folded hands, O lord of all worlds, shall I stand before thee face to face.

Under thy great sky in solitude and silence, with humble heart shall I stand before thee face to face.

In this laborious world of thine, tumultuous with toil and with struggle, among hurrying crowds shall I stand before thee face to face.

And when my work shall be done in this world, O King of kings, alone and speecess shall I stand before thee face to face.
77.

I know thee as my God and stand apart - I do not know thee as my own and come closer. I know thee as my father and bow before thy feet- I do not grasp thy hand as my friend's.

I stand not where thou comest down and ownest thyself as mine, there to clasp thee to my heart and take thee as my comrade.

Thou art the Brother amongst my brothers, but I heed them not, I divide not my earnings with them, thus sharing my all with thee.

In pleasure and in pain I stand not by the side of men, and thus stand by thee. I shrink to give up my life, and thus do not plunge into the great waters of life.
78.

When the creation was new and all the stars shone in their first splendour, the gods held their assembly in the sky and sang 'Oh, the picture of perfection! the joy unalloyed!'

But one cried of a sudden - 'It seems that somewhere there is a break in the chain of light and one of the stars has been lost.'

The golden string of their harp snapped, their song stopped, and they cried in dismay - 'Yes, that lost star was the best, she was the glory of all heavens!'

From that day the search is unceasing for her, and the cry goes on from one to the other that in her the world has lost its one joy!

Only in the deepest silence of night the stars smile and whisper among themselves - 'Vain is this seeking! unbroken perfection is over all!'
79.

If it is not my portion to meet thee in this life then let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight - let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

As my days pass in the crowded market of this world and my hands grow full with the daily profits, let me ever feel that I have gained nothing - let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

When I sit by the roadside, tired and panting, when I spread my bed low in the dust, let me ever feel that the long journey is still before me - let me not forget a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

When my rooms have been decked out and the flutes sound and the laughter there is loud, let me ever feel that I have not invited thee to my house - let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.
80.

I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious! Thy touch has not yet melted my vapour, making me one with thy light, and thus I count months and years separated from thee.

If this be thy wish and if this be thy play, then take this fleeting emptiness of mine, paint it with colours, gild it with gold, float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders.

And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night, I shall melt and vanish away in the dark, or it may be in a smile of the white morning, in a coolness of purity transparent.
81.

On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. But it is never lost, my lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.

Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.

I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work had ceased. In the morning I woke up and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.
82.

Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none to count thy minutes.

Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers. Thou knowest how to wait.

Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower.

We have no time to lose, and having no time we must scramble for a chances. We are too poor to be late.

And thus it is that time goes by while I give it to every querulous man who claims it, and thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last.

At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate to be shut; but I find that yet there is time.
83.

Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck with my tears of sorrow.

The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet, but mine will hang upon thy breast.

Wealth and fame come from thee and it is for thee to give or to withhold them. But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own, and when I bring it to thee as my offering thou rewardest me with thy grace.
84.

It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky.

It is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all nights from star to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness of July.

It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and desires, into sufferings and joy in human homes; and this it is that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart.
85.

When the warriors came out first from their master's hall, where had they hid their power? Where were their armour and their arms?

They looked poor and helpless, and the arrows were showered upon them on the day they came out from their master's hall.

When the warriors marched back again to their master's hall where did they hide their power?

They had dropped the sword and dropped the bow and the arrow; peace was on their foreheads, and they had left the fruits of their life behind them on the day they marched back again to their master's hall.
86.

Death, thy servant, is at my door. He has crossed the unknown sea and brought thy call to my home.

The night is dark and my heart is fearful - yet I will take up the lamp, open my gates and bow to him my welcome. It is thy messenger who stands at my door.

I will worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart.

He will go back with his errand done, leaving a dark shadow on my morning; and in my desolate home only my forlorn self will remain as my last offering to thee.

87.

In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of my room; I find her not.

My house is small and what once has gone from it can never be regained.

But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and seeking her I have to come to thy door.

I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky and I lift my eager eyes to thy face.

I have come to the brink of eternity from which nothing can vanish - no hope, no happiness, no vision of a face seen through tears.

Oh, dip my emptied life into that ocean, plunge it into the deepest fullness. Let me for once feel that lost sweet touch in the allness of the universe.
88.

Deity of the ruined temple! The broken strings of Vina sing no more your praise. The bells in the evening proclaim not your time of worship. The air is still and silent about you.

In your desolate dwelling comes the vagrant spring breeze. It brings the tidings of flowers - the flowers that for your worship are offered no more.

Your worshipper of old wanders ever longing for favour still refused. In the eventide, when fires and shadows mingle with the gloom of dust, he wearily comes back to the ruined temple with hunger in his heart.

Many a festival day comes to you in silence, deity of the ruined temple. Many a night of worship goes away with lamp unlit.

Many new images are built by masters of cunning art and carried to the holy stream of oblivion when their time is come.

Only the deity of the ruined temple remains unworshipped in deatess neglect.

89.

No more noisy, loud words from me - such is my master's will. Henceforth I deal in whispers. The speech of my heart will be carried on in murmurings of a song.

Men hasten to the King's market. All the buyers and sellers are there. But I have my untimely leave in the middle of the day, in the thick of work.

Let then the flowers come out in my garden, though it is not their time; and let the midday bees strike up their lazy hum.

Full many an hour have I spent in the strife of the good and the evil, but now it is the pleasure of my playmate of the empty days to draw my heart on to him; and I know not why is this sudden call to what useless inconsequence!
90.

On the day when death will knock at thy door what wilt thou offer to him?

Oh, I will set before my guest the full vessel of my life - I will never let him go with empty hands.

All the sweet vintage of all my autumn days and summer nights, all the earnings and gleanings of my busy life will I place before him at the close of my days when death will knock at my door.
91.

O thou the last fulfilment of life, Death, my death, come and whisper to me!

Day after day I have kept watch for thee; for thee have I borne the joys and pangs of life.

All that I am, that I have, that I hope and all my love have ever flowed towards thee in depth of secrecy. One final glance from thine eyes and my life will be ever thine own.

The flowers have been woven and the garland is ready for the bridegroom. After the wedding the bride shall leave her home and meet her lord alone in the solitude of night.
92.

I know that the day will come when my sight of this earth shall be lost, and life will take its leave in silence, drawing the last curtain over my eyes.

Yet stars will watch at night, and morning rise as before, and hours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains.

When I think of this end of my moments, the barrier of the moments breaks and I see by the light of death thy world with its careless treasures. Rare is its lowliest seat, rare is its meanest of lives.

Things that I longed for in vain and things that I got - let them pass. Let me but truly possess the things that I ever spurned and overlooked.
93.

I have got my leave. Bid me farewell, my brothers! I bow to you all and take my departure.

Here I give back the keys of my door - and I give up all claims to my house. I only ask for last kind words from you.

We were neighbours for long, but I received more than I could give. Now the day has dawned and the lamp that lit my dark corner is out. A summons has come and I am ready for my journey.
94.

At this time of my parting, wish me good luck, my friends! The sky is flushed with the dawn and my path lies beautiful.

Ask not what I have with me to take there. I start on my journey with empty hands and expectant heart.

I shall put on my wedding garland. Mine is not the red-brown dress of the traveller, and though there are dangers on the way I have no fear in mind.

The evening star will come out when my voyage is done and the plaintive notes of the twilight melodies be struck up from the King's gateway.

95.

I was not aware of the moment when I first crossed the threshold of this life.

What was the power that made me open out into this vast mystery like a bud in the forest at midnight!

When in the morning I looked upon the light I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in this world, that the inscrutable without name and form had taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother.

Even so, in death the same unknown will appear as ever known to me. And because I love this life, I know I shall love death as well.

The child cries out when from the right breast the mother takes it away, in the very next moment to find in the left one its consolation.
96.

When I go from hence let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpassable.

I have tasted of the hidden honey of this lotus that expands on the ocean of light, and thus am I blessed - let this be my parting word.

In this playhouse of infinite forms I have had my play and here have I caught sight of him that is formless.

My whole body and my limbs have thrilled with his touch who is beyond touch; and if the end comes here, let it come - let this be my parting word.
97.

When my play was with thee I never questioned who thou wert. I knew nor shyness nor fear, my life was boisterous.

In the early morning thou wouldst call me from my sleep like my own comrade and lead me running from glade to glade.

On those days I never cared to know the meaning of songs thou sangest to me. Only my voice took up the tunes, and my heart danced in their cadence.

Now, when the playtime is over, what is this sudden sight that is come upon me? The world with eyes bent upon thy feet stands in awe with all its silent stars.
98.

I will deck thee with trophies, garlands of my defeat. It is never in my power to escape unconquered.

I surely know my pride will go to the wall, my life will burst its bonds in exceeding pain, and my empty heart will sob out in music like a hollow reed, and the stone will melt in tears.

I surely know the hundred petals of a lotus will not remain closed for ever and the secret recess of its honey will be bared.

From the blue sky an eye shall gaze upon me and summon me in silence. Nothing will be left for me, nothing whatever, and utter death shall I receive at thy feet.
99.

When I give up the helm I know that the time has come for thee to take it. What there is to do will be instantly done. Vain is this struggle.

Then take away your hands and silently put up with your defeat, my heart, and think it your good fortune to sit perfectly still where you are placed.

These my lamps are blown out at every little puff of wind, and trying to light them I forget all else again and again.

But I shall be wise this time and wait in the dark, spreading my mat on the floor; and whenever it is thy pleasure, my lord, come silently and take thy seat here.
100.

I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.

No more sailing from harbour to harbour with this my weather-beaten boat. The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves.

And now I am eager to die into the deatess.

Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss where swells up the music of toneless strings I shall take this harp of my life.

I shall tune it to the notes of forever, and when it has sobbed out its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at the feet of the silent.
101.

Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs. It was they who led me from door to door, and with them have I felt about me, searching and touching my world.

It was my songs that taught me all the lessons I ever learnt; they showed me secret paths, they brought before my sight many a star on the horizon of my heart.

They guided me all the day long to the mysteries of the country of pleasure and pain, and, at last, to what palace gate have the brought me in the evening at the end of my journey?
102.

I boasted among men that I had known you. They see your pictures in all works of mine. They come and ask me, 'Who is he?' I know not how to answer them. I say, 'Indeed, I cannot tell.' They blame me and they go away in scorn. And you sit there smiling.

I put my tales of you into lasting songs. The secret gushes out from my heart. They come and ask me, 'Tell me all your meanings.' I know not how to answer them. I say, 'Ah, who knows what they mean!' They smile and go away in utter scorn. And you sit there smiling.
103.

In one salutation to thee, my God, let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet.

Like a rain-cloud of July hung low with its burden of unshed showers let all my mind bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee.

Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single current and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee.

Like a flock of homesick cranes flying night and day back to their mountain nests let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home in one salutation to thee.
In the introduction to Gitanjali, W.B Yeats says of Tagores poetry.

At every moment the heart of this poet flows outward to these without derogation or condescension, for it has known that they will understand; and it has filled itself with the circumstance of their lives.

An innocence, a simplicity that one does not find elsewhere in literature makes the birds and the leaves seem as near to him as they are near to children, and the changes of the seasons great events as before our thoughts had arisen between them and us.
~ Rabindranath Tagore, Gitanjali
,

IN CHAPTERS [79/79]



   62 Poetry
   39 Mysticism
   28 Philosophy
   13 Integral Yoga
   11 Sufism
   3 Yoga


   41 Rabindranath Tagore
   19 Kabir
   11 Nolini Kanta Gupta
   2 Sri Ramakrishna
   2 Sri Aurobindo


   28 Tagore - Poems
   11 Songs of Kabir
   4 Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 06
   3 Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 02
   2 The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna
   2 Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07


01.04 - The Poetry in the Making, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 02, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Mystic Poetry Rabindranath Tagore: A Great Poet, a Great Man
   Other Authors Nolini Kanta Gupta Poets and Mystics The Poetry in the Making
  --
   Mystic Poetry Rabindranath Tagore: A Great Poet, a Great Man

01.05 - Rabindranath Tagore: A Great Poet, a Great Man, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 02, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
  object:01.05 - Rabindranath Tagore: A Great Poet, a Great Man
  author class:Nolini Kanta Gupta
  --
   Rabindranath Tagore: A Great Poet, a Great Man
   Tagore is a great poet: he will be remembered as one of the I greatest world-poets. But humanity owes him anotherperhaps a greaterdebt of gratitude: his name has a higher value, a more significant potency for the future.

01.06 - Vivekananda, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 02, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Rabindranath Tagore: A Great Poet, a Great Man Blaise Pascal (1623-1662)
   Other Authors Nolini Kanta Gupta Poets and MysticsVivekananda
  --
   Rabindranath Tagore: A Great Poet, a Great Man Blaise Pascal (1623-1662)

0 1954-08-25 - what is this personality? and when will she come?, #Agenda Vol 01, #unset, #Integral Yoga
   W.W. Pearson, a friend of Rabindranath Tagore, who had come from Tagore's Ashram in 1923; Mother had met him with Tagore in 1916 in Japan.
   ***

03.12 - TagorePoet and Seer, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 01, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Such a great name is Rabindranath Tagore in Bengali literature. We need not forget Bankim Chandra, nor even Madhusudan: still one can safely declare that if Bengali language and literature belonged to any single person as its supreme liberator and fosterer savitand pit is Rabindranath. It was he who lifted that language and literature from what had been after all a provincial and parochial status into the domain of the international and universal. Through him a thing of local value was metamorphosed definitively into a thing of world value.
   The miracle that Tagore has done is this: he has brought out the very soul of the raceits soul of lyric fervour and grace, of intuitive luminosity and poignant sensibility, of beauty and harmony and delicacy. It is this that he has made living and vibrant, raised almost to the highest pitch and amplitude in various modes in the utterance of his nation. What he always expresses, in all his creations, is one aspect or another, a rhythm or a note of the soul movement. It is always a cry of the soul, a profound experience in the inner heart that wells out in the multifarious cadences of his poems. It is the same motif that finds a local habitation and a name in his short stories, perfect gems, masterpieces among world's masterpieces of art. In his dramas and novels it is the same element that has found a wider canvas for a more detailed and graphic notation of its play and movement. I would even include his essays (and certainly his memoirs) within the sweep of the same master-note. An essay by Rabindranath is as characteristic of the poet as any lyric poem of his. This is not to say that the essays are devoid of a solid intellectual content, a close-knit logical argument, an acute and penetrating thought movement, nor is it that his novels or dramas are mere lyrics drawn out arid thinned, lacking in the essential elements of a plot and action and character. What I mean is that over and above these factors which Tagores art possesses to a considerable degree, there is an imponderable element, a flavour, a breath from elsewhere that suffuses the entire creation, something that can be characterised only as the soul-element. It is this presence that makes whatever the poet touches not only living and graceful but instinct with something that belongs to the world of gods, something celestial and divine, something that meets and satisfies man's deepest longing and aspiration.

1.03 - Meeting the Master - Meeting with others, #Evening Talks With Sri Aurobindo, #unset, #Integral Yoga
   [1] Rabindranath Tagore.
   ***

1.10 - THE MASTER WITH THE BRAHMO DEVOTEES (II), #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
  About five o'clock in the afternoon Sri Ramakrishna arrived at the temple of the Brahmo Samaj in Nandanbagan, accompanied by M., Rakhal, and a few other devotees. At first the Master sat in the drawing-room on the ground floor, where the Brahmo devotees gradually assembled. Rabindranath Tagore and a few other members of the Tagore family were present on this occasion.
  Sri Ramakrishna was asked to go to the worship hall on the second floor. A dais had been built on the eastern side of the room. There were a few chairs and a piano in the hall. The Brahmo worship was to begin at dusk.

1.kbr - Do not go to the garden of flowers!, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Hindi Do not go to the garden of flowers! O friend! go not there; In your body is the garden of flowers. Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the Infinite Beauty. [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.kbr - Hang up the swing of love today!, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Hindi Hang up the swing of love today! Hang the body and the mind between the arms of the beloved, in the ecstasy of love's joy: Bring the tearful streams of the rainy clouds to your eyes, and cover your heart with the shadow of darkness: Bring your face nearer to his ear, and speak of the deepest longings of your heart. Kabir says: 'Listen to me brother! bring the vision of the Beloved in your heart.' [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.kbr - O how may I ever express that secret word?, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Hindi O how may I ever express that secret word? O how can I say He is not like this, and He is like that? If I say that He is within me, the universe is ashamed: If I say that He is without me, it is falsehood. He makes the inner and the outer worlds to be indivisibly one; The conscious and the unconscious, both are His footstools. He is neither manifest nor hidden, He is neither revealed nor unrevealed: There are no words to tell that which He is. [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.kbr - Poem 13, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

1.kbr - Poem 14, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

1.kbr - Poem 15, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

1.kbr - Poem 2, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Tramslated by Rabindranath Tagore

1.kbr - Poem 3, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Translation by Rabindranath Tagore

1.kbr - Poem 5, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

1.kbr - Poem 6, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

1.kbr - Poem 7, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

1.kbr - Poem 8, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

1.kbr - Poem 9, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Translated by Rabindranath Tagore

1.kbr - Tell me, O Swan, your ancient tale, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Hindi Tell me, O Swan, your ancient tale. From what land do you come, O Swan? to what shore will you fly? Where would you take your rest, O Swan, and what do you seek? Even this morning, O Swan, awake, arise, follow me! There is a land where no doubt nor sorrow have rule: where the terror of Death is no more. There the woods of spring are a-bloom, and the fragrant scent "He is I" is borne on the wind: There the bee of the heart is deeply immersed, and desires no other joy. [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.kbr - The light of the sun, the moon, and the stars shines bright, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Hindi The light of the sun, the moon, and the stars shines bright: The melody of love swells forth, and the rhythm of love's detachment beats the time. Day and night, the chorus of music fills the heavens; and Kabir says "My Beloved One gleams like the lightning flash in the sky." Do you know how the moments perform their adoration? Waving its row of lamps, the universe sings in worship day and night, There are the hidden banner and the secret canopy: There the sound of the unseen bells is heard. Kabir says: "There adoration never ceases; there the Lord of the Universe sitteth on His throne." The whole world does its works and commits its errors: but few are the lovers who know the Beloved. The devout seeker is he who mingles in his heart the double currents of love and detachment, like the mingling of the streams of Ganges and Jumna; In his heart the sacred water flows day and night; and thus the round of births and deaths is brought to an end. Behold what wonderful rest is in the Supreme Spirit! and he enjoys it, who makes himself meet for it. Held by the cords of love, the swing of the Ocean of Joy sways to and fro; and a mighty sound breaks forth in song. See what a lotus blooms there without water! and Kabir says "My heart's bee drinks its nectar." What a wonderful lotus it is, that blooms at the heart of the spinning wheel of the universe! Only a few pure souls know of its true delight. Music is all around it, and there the heart partakes of the joy of the Infinite Sea. Kabir says: "Dive thou into that Ocean of sweetness: thus let all errors of life and of death flee away." Behold how the thirst of the five senses is quenched there! and the three forms of misery are no more! Kabir says: "It is the sport of the Unattainable One: look within, and behold how the moon-beams of that Hidden One shine in you." There falls the rhythmic beat of life and death: Rapture wells forth, and all space is radiant with light. There the Unstruck Music is sounded; it is the music of the love of the three worlds. There millions of lamps of sun and of moon are burning; There the drum beats, and the lover swings in play. There love-songs resound, and light rains in showers; and the worshipper is entranced in the taste of the heavenly nectar. Look upon life and death; there is no separation between them, The right hand and the left hand are one and the same. Kabir says: "There the wise man is speechless; for this truth may never be found in Vedas or in books." I have had my Seat on the Self-poised One, I have drunk of the Cup of the Ineffable, I have found the Key of the Mystery, I have reached the Root of Union. Travelling by no track, I have come to the Sorrowless Land: very easily has the mercy of the great Lord come upon me. They have sung of Him as infinite and unattainable: but I in my meditations have seen Him without sight. That is indeed the sorrowless land, and none know the path that leads there: Only he who is on that path has surely transcended all sorrow. Wonderful is that land of rest, to which no merit can win; It is the wise who has seen it, it is the wise who has sung of it. This is the Ultimate Word: but can any express its marvelous savour? He who has savoured it once, he knows what joy it can give. Kabir says: "Knowing it, the ignorant man becomes wise, and the wise man becomes speechless and silent, The worshipper is utterly inebriated, His wisdom and his detachment are made perfect; He drinks from the cup of the inbreathings and the outbreathings of love." There the whole sky is filled with sound, and there that music is made without fingers and without strings; There the game of pleasure and pain does not cease. Kabir says: "If you merge your life in the Ocean of Life, you will find your life in the Supreme Land of Bliss." What a frenzy of ecstasy there is in every hour! and the worshipper is pressing out and drinking the essence of the hours: he lives in the life of Brahma. I speak truth, for I have accepted truth in life; I am now attached to truth, I have swept all tinsel away. Kabir says: "Thus is the worshipper set free from fear; thus have all errors of life and of death left him." There the sky is filled with music: There it rains nectar: There the harp-strings jingle, and there the drums beat. What a secret splendour is there, in the mansion of the sky! There no mention is made of the rising and the setting of the sun; In the ocean of manifestation, which is the light of love, day and night are felt to be one. Joy for ever, no sorrow,--no struggle! There have I seen joy filled to the brim, perfection of joy; No place for error is there. Kabir says: "There have I witnessed the sport of One Bliss!" I have known in my body the sport of the universe: I have escaped from the error of this world. The inward and the outward are become as one sky, the Infinite and the finite are united: I am drunken with the sight of this All! This Light of Thine fulfills the universe: the lamp of love that burns on the salver of knowledge. Kabir says: "There error cannot enter, and the conflict of life and death is felt no more." [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.kbr - The moon shines in my body, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Hindi The moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it: The moon is within me, and so is the sun. The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it. So long as man clamours for the I and the Mine, his works are as naught: When all love of the I and the Mine is dead, then the work of the Lord is done. For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge: When that comes, then work is put away. The flower blooms for the fruit: when the fruit comes, the flower withers. The musk is in the deer, but it seeks it not within itself: it wanders in quest of grass. [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.kbr - Theres A Moon Inside My Body, #Songs of Kabir, #Kabir, #Sufism
  Translated By Rabindranath Tagore.

1.kbr - Where dost thou seem me?, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Hindi O Servant, where dost thou seek Me? Lo! I am beside thee. I am neither in temple nor in mosque: I am neither in Kaaba nor in Kailash: Neither am I in rites and ceremonies, nor in Yoga and renunciation. If thou art a true seeker, thou shalt at once see Me: thou shalt meet Me in a moment of time. Kabr says, "O Sadhu! God is the breath of all breath." [bk1sm.gif] -- from One Hundred Poems of Kabir: Translated by Rabindranath Tagore, by Kabir / Translated by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.kbr - Within this earthen vessel, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Hindi Within this earthen vessel are bowers and groves, and within it is the Creator: Within this vessel are the seven oceans and the unnumbered stars. The touchstone and the jewel-appraiser are within; And within this vessel the Eternal soundeth, and the spring wells up. Kabir says: "Listen to me, my Friend! My beloved Lord is within." [2652.jpg] -- from The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology), Edited by Ivan M. Granger <
1.rt - (101) Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs (from Gitanjali), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs. It was they who led me from door to door, and with them have I felt about me, searching and touching my world. It was my songs that taught me all the lessons I ever learnt; they showed me secret paths, they brought before my sight many a star on the horizon of my heart. They guided me all the day long to the mysteries of the country of pleasure and pain, and, at last, to what palace gate have they brought me in the evening at the end of my journey? [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.rt - (103) In one salutation to thee, my God (from Gitanjali), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali In one salutation to thee, my God, let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet. Like a rain-cloud of July hung low with its burden of unshed showers let all my mind bend down at thy door in one salutation to thee. Let all my songs gather together their diverse strains into a single current and flow to a sea of silence in one salutation to thee. Like a flock of homesick cranes flying night and day back to their mountain nests let all my life take its voyage to its eternal home in one salutation to thee. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.rt - (1) Thou hast made me endless (from Gitanjali), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new. At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.rt - (38) I want thee, only thee (from Gitanjali), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali That I want thee, only thee -- let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core. As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry -- I want thee, only thee. As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is -- I want thee, only thee. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.rt - (63) Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not (from Gitanjali), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   by Rabindranath Tagore
  English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made a brother of the stranger. I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter; I forget that there abides the old in the new, and that there also thou abidest. Through birth and death, in this world or in others, wherever thou leadest me it is thou, the same, the one companion of my endless life who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar. When one knows thee, then alien there is none, then no door is shut. Oh, grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss of the touch of the one in the play of the many. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.rt - (75) Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs (from Gitanjali), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali Thy gifts to us mortals fulfill all our needs and yet run back to thee undiminished. The river has its everyday work to do and hastens through fields and hamlets; yet its incessant stream winds towards the washing of thy feet. The flower sweetens the air with its perfume; yet its last service is to offer itself to thee. Thy worship does not impoverish the world. From the words of the poet men take what meanings please them; yet their last meaning points to thee. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.rt - (80) I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn (from Gitanjali), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious! Thy touch has not yet melted my vapour, making me one with thy light, and thus I count months and years separated from thee. If this be thy wish and if this be thy play, then take this fleeting emptiness of mine, paint it with colours, gild it with gold, float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied wonders. And again when it shall be thy wish to end this play at night, I shall melt and vanish away in the dark, or it may be in a smile of the white morning, in a coolness of purity transparent. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.rt - (84) It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world (from Gitanjali), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   by Rabindranath Tagore
  English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky. It is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all night from star to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness of July. It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and desires, into sufferings and joys in human homes; and this it is that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart. [1884.jpg] -- from Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.rt - Accept me, my lord, accept me for this while, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali Accept me, my lord, accept me for this while. Let those orphaned days that passed without thee be forgotten. Only spread this little moment wide across thy lap, holding it under thy light. I have wandered in pursuit of voices that drew me yet led me nowhere. Now let me sit in peace and listen to thy words in the soul of my silence. Do not turn away thy face from my heart's dark secrets, but burn them till they are alight with thy fire. [bk1sm.gif] -- from Lover's Gift and Crossing, by Rabindranath Tagore

1.rt - A Dream, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the poem ''Swapna' from the collection Kalpana by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - A Hundred Years Hence, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  A transcreation of the poem 1400 Sal (The year 1400) from the collection Chitra by Rabindranath Tagore.
  It was written on the 2nd of Falgun (first month of spring), 1302 (1895-96), of the Bengali calendar. Translated by Kumud Biswas.

1.rt - All These I Loved, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the song Eito bhalo legechhilo from the collection Gitapanchashika by Rabindranath Tagore. A recording of this song has been made by Debabrata Biswas. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
  Sal Groves (line 4) refers to Shorea robusta, the sal tree. It is a species of tree in the family Dipterocarpaceae.

1.rt - Along The Way, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  A transcreation of the devotional song Pathe chole jete jete by Rabindranath Tagore. Translated by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - And In Wonder And Amazement I Sing, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the song Akash bhara surya tara biswabhara pran by Rabindranath Tagore. Listening to Debabrata Biswas singing this wonderful song is a rare experience. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - At The End Of The Day, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the devotional song Jani go din jabe e din jabe from the collection Gitalekha 3 by Rabindranath Tagore. Its notation is to be found in Swarabitan number 41. There is a good recording of this song is by Arghya Sen. The original is in the Bengali language, transcreated into English by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - Birth Story, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the poem 'Janmkatha' from the collection Shishu by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - Compensation, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the poem Kshatipuran from the collection Kshanika by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - Cruel Kindness, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of song no. 2 Ami bohu basanay pranpane chai/banchita kore banchale more from Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore. This has not been included in the English Gitanjali.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - Dream Girl, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the sonnet Manasi from the collection Chaitali (The Summer Harvest) by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - Gift Of The Great, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  A transcreation of poem 18 from the collection Janmadine by Rabindranath Tagore. Translated by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - Hes there among the scented trees (from The Lover of God), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Tony Stewart and Chase Twitchell Original Language Bengali He's there among the scented trees, playing the notes he has taught you. Too late for embarrassment, shy doe nibbling at the forest's edge, shawled in deep blue shadows. He's calling you. The flower of your soul is opening, little deer. The river of scent will lead you deep into the trees where he waits. The bihanga also plays tonight -- do you hear his more distant flute? Black bees carry the moon's luster from flower to flower. The rest of the grove will bloom tonight, I think. How he looks at you, young animal. He shames the moon with his own dark light. Let's bow down before the young Lord, the deep blue flowers at his feet. [2260.jpg] -- from The Lover of God, by Rabindranath Tagore / Translated by Tony Stewart <
1.rt - In The Country, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  A transcreation of the poem Palligrame from the collection Chaitali (The Summer Harvest) by Rabindranath Tagore. Translated by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - I touch God in my song, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali I touch God in my song as the hill touches the far-away sea with its waterfall. The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. Let my love, like sunlight, surround you and yet give you illumined freedom. Love remains a secret even when spoken, for only a lover truly knows that he is loved. Emancipation from the bondage of the soil is no freedom for thee. In love I pay my endless debt to thee for what thou art. [bk1sm.gif] -- from The Fugitive, by Rabindranath Tagore <
1.rt - Kinu Goalas Alley, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  A transcreation of the poem Banshi from the collection Punascha by Rabindranath Tagore.
  In the compilation Sanchayita it is entitled Kinu goalar goli. Among the poems written by the poet on the theme of music this one is the most famous. In Bengali a milkman is called a goala. Translated by Kumud Biswas.

1.rt - Listen, can you hear it? (from The Lover of God), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Tony Stewart and Chase Twitchell Original Language Bengali Listen, can you hear it? His bamboo flute speaks the pure language of love. The moon enlightens the trees, the path, the sinuous Yamuna. Oblivious of the jasmine's scent I stagger around, disheveled heart bereft of modesty, eyes wet with nerves and delight. Tell me, dear friend, say it aloud: is he not my own Dark Lord Syama? Is it not my name his flute pours into the empty evening? For eons I longed for God, I yearned to know him. That's why he has come to me now, deep emerald Lord of my breath. O Syama, whenever your faraway flute thrills through the dark, I say your name, only your name, and will my body to dissolve in the luminous Yamuna. Go to her, Lord, go now. What's stopping you? The earth drowns in sleep. Let's go. I'll walk with you. [2260.jpg] -- from The Lover of God, by Rabindranath Tagore / Translated by Tony Stewart <
1.rt - My Friend, Come In These Rains, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of one of the saddest yet sweetest rainy day song Aji shravanghanagahan mohe/gopan tabo charan phele/nishar mato nirab ohe/sabar dithi eraye ele by Rabindranath Tagore. A of this song by Debabrata Biswas is available. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - My Pole Star, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the famous love song Tomarei koriachhi jibaner dhrubatara by Rabindranath Tagore. A recording of this song by Dwijen Mukherji is available.
  Originally transformed into a devotional song or brahmo sangit from a small dedicatory verse addressed to the poets notun-bouthan (new sister-in-law), Kadambaridevi, the wife of his elder brother Jyotirindranath, it is now classified as a love song. Young Narendranath Dutta, a reputed singer who became Swami Vivekananda later in his life, once sang this song under the direction of the poet himself. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.

1.rt - My Present, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  A transcreation of poem 10 from the collection Balaka by Rabindranath Tagore. Translation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - Old Letters, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the poem Dekhilam khankoy puratan chithi - from the collection Smaran by Rabindranath Tagore. Written after the premature death of his wife. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time (from Gitanjali), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Rabindranath Tagore Original Language Bengali On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. But it is never lost, my lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands. Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness. I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work had ceased. In the morning I woke up and found my garden full with wonders of flowers. [2652.jpg] -- from The Longing in Between: Sacred Poetry from Around the World (A Poetry Chaikhana Anthology), Edited by Ivan M. Granger <
1.rt - Rare, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the sonnet Durlabh Janma from the collection Chaitali (The Summer Harvest) by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - Shyama, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the poem Shyama from the collection Akashpradip by Rabindranath Tagore. The theme is the memories of his notun-bouthan or new sister-in-law Kadambaridevi, the wife of his elder brother Jyotirindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.

1.rt - The Call Of The Far, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of perhaps the most romantic song Ami chanchal he, ami sudurer piyasi by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.A recording of this song by Debabrata Biswas is available.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - The Hero(2), #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the famous poem 'Birpurush' from the collection Shishu by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreated by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - The Kiss(2), #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the poem Chumban from the collection Kadi O komal by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - The Lost Star, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the poem Haradhan from the collection Kheya (The Ferry) by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - The Music Of The Rains, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  A transcreation of one of the sweetest songs of the rains Jabe rimiki jhimiki jhare bhadarer dhara by Rabindranath Tagore. Translated by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - The Portrait, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of one of the most famous and most untranslatable poems - number 6, also called Chhabi, from the collection Balaka by Rabindranath Tagore. Written in rhyming free verse it is a deeply moving tribute to Kadambaridevi, wife of his elder brother Jyotirindranath, whom he used to call his notunbouthan (new sister-in-law). This couple made the greatest contribution to the making of the phenomenon called Rabindranath. And this talented lady was the earliest and deepest inspiration in the literary life of the poet. When only 25 she committed suicide. At the time Tagore was 23 and a struggling poet. More than anyone else it was Kadambari who helped him in his chrysalis. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
   Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - This Dog, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of poem 14 from the collection Arogya by Rabindranath Tagore. During the closing years of his life every morning at Santiniketan the poet used to take his breakfast sitting on the verandah. At that time a stray dog used to sit very patiently at his feet. The breakfast consisted of a few slices of bread and a cup of tea. This dog shared it with the poet but the bread had got to be buttered, otherwise it wouldnt touch it. They the poet and the dog became great friends. Occasionally when it absented itself from this habitual meeting the poet made his attendants seek it out. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.
  5 Translated by Kumud Biswas

1.rt - Tumi Sandhyar Meghamala - You Are A Cluster Of Clouds - Translation, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of the love song Tumi sandhyar meghamala - by Rabindranath Tagore. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.

1.rt - Waiting For The Beloved, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
  Transcreation of one of the sweetest love songs Aji jhorer rate tomar abhisar by Rabindranath Tagore. Sung like a plain song it has been recorded by Debabrata Biswas. Transcreation by Kumud Biswas.

1.rt - Who are You, who keeps my heart awake? (from The Lover of God), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Tony Stewart and Chase Twitchell Original Language Bengali Who are You, who keeps my heart awake? Every moment is lit by You, so that I feel no longer separate from You. Whose flute is playing sweet and bitter songs of love? It starts the cuckoos singing, and calls the nectar-heavy bees of my desire. A young wife could be blooming in the season of honey, watching the moon, and be stolen in a moment. Touch Radha, Whoever You are. She shivers at Your feet, risking everything to bear love's searing fire. Master, is that not You? She's grown reckless with her soul. Her fear is gone, her hesitation. Who are You? She'll weep at Your lotus feet until she knows. [2260.jpg] -- from The Lover of God, by Rabindranath Tagore / Translated by Tony Stewart <
1.rt - Your flute plays the exact notes of my pain. (from The Lover of God), #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
   English version by Tony Stewart and Chase Twitchell Original Language Bengali Your flute plays the exact notes of my pain. It toys with me. Where did you learn such stealth, such subtle wounding, Kan? The arrows in my breast burn even in rain and wind. Wasted moments pulse around me, wishes and desires, departing happiness -- Master, my soul scorches. I think you can see its heat in my eyes, its intensity and cruelty. So let me drown in the cool and consoling Yamuna, or slake my desire in your cool, consoling, changing-moon face. It's the face I'll see in death. Here's my wish and pledge: that that same moon will spill its white pollen down through the roof of flowers into the grove, where I'll consecrate my life to it forever, and be its flute-breath, the perfume that hangs upon the air, making all the young girls melancholy. That's my prayer. Oh, the two of you, way out of earshot. If you look back you'll see me, Bhanu, warming herself at the week embers of the past. [2260.jpg] -- from The Lover of God, by Rabindranath Tagore / Translated by Tony Stewart <
20.06 - Translations in French, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 05, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Un pome de Rabindranath Tagore.
   ***

26.03 - Ramprasad, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 06, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Other Hymns and Prayers Rabindranath Tagore
   Other Authors Nolini Kanta Gupta Ramprasad
  --
   Other Hymns and Prayers Rabindranath Tagore

26.04 - Rabindranath Tagore, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 06, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
  object:26.04 - Rabindranath Tagore
  author class:Nolini Kanta Gupta
  --
   Other Authors Nolini Kanta Gupta Rabindranath Tagore
   Rabindranath Tagore
  

26.05 - Modern Poets, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 06, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   Rabindranath Tagore Ashram Poets
   Other Authors Nolini Kanta Gupta Modern Poets
  --
   Rabindranath Tagore Ashram Poets

27.04 - A Vision, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 06, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   One is reminded of Rabindranath Tagore's
   ***

30.07 - The Poet and the Yogi, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   In our country also Rabindranath Tagore's name needs no mention. A spiritual aspiration pervades his poetic inspiration. It is evident that this spiritual aspiration is the source of his poetic creation. But let us listen to Madhusudan, the so-called iconoclast:
   Where is the world of the Brahman?

30.14 - Rabindranath and Modernism, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
   From this standpoint it will be no exaggeration to say that Rabindranath Tagore has modernised the Bengalis and Bengali literature and the Bengali heart. Madhusudan brought in Blank Verse. But by creating and introducing the metre of stresses Tagore brought about a speciality in modernism. In words, rhythms and concepts he has brought in a freedom of movement and swing, a richer, wider and subtler synthesis and beauty.
   A poet of the olden times sings:

9.99 - Glossary, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
    Devendra(nath) Tagore: A religious leader of Sri Ramakrishna's time; father of Rabindranath Tagore.
    devotee: The word is generally used in the text to denote one devoted to God, a worshipper of the Personal God, or a follower of the path of love. A devotee of Sri Ramakrishna is one who is devoted to Sri Ramakrishna and follows his teachings. The word "disciple", when used in connexion with the Master, refers to one who had been initiated into spiritual life by Sri Ramakrishna and who regarded Sri Ramakrishna as his guru.

Talks With Sri Aurobindo 1, #unset, #Anonymous, #Various
  following the leaders of modernism here, Rabindranath Tagore as a painter
  is not much imitated. Perhaps because of Abanindranath Tagore and Nandalal Bose.

Talks With Sri Aurobindo 2, #Talks With Sri Aurobindo, #unset, #Integral Yoga
  [2] The poem composed by Rabindranath Tagore on the occasion of Sri Aurobindo's arrest:
  "Rabindranath, O Aurobindo, bows to thee!".

WORDNET



--- Overview of noun rabindranath_tagore

The noun rabindranath tagore has 1 sense (no senses from tagged texts)
            
1. Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, Sir Rabindranath Tagore ::: (Indian writer and philosopher whose poetry (based on traditional Hindu themes) pioneered the use of colloquial Bengali (1861-1941))


--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun rabindranath_tagore

1 sense of rabindranath tagore                    

Sense 1
Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, Sir Rabindranath Tagore
   INSTANCE OF=> writer, author
     => communicator
       => person, individual, someone, somebody, mortal, soul
         => organism, being
           => living thing, animate thing
             => whole, unit
               => object, physical object
                 => physical entity
                   => entity
         => causal agent, cause, causal agency
           => physical entity
             => entity
   INSTANCE OF=> philosopher
     => scholar, scholarly person, bookman, student
       => intellectual, intellect
         => person, individual, someone, somebody, mortal, soul
           => organism, being
             => living thing, animate thing
               => whole, unit
                 => object, physical object
                   => physical entity
                     => entity
           => causal agent, cause, causal agency
             => physical entity
               => entity


--- Hyponyms of noun rabindranath_tagore
                                    


--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun rabindranath_tagore

1 sense of rabindranath tagore                    

Sense 1
Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, Sir Rabindranath Tagore
   INSTANCE OF=> writer, author
   INSTANCE OF=> philosopher




--- Coordinate Terms (sisters) of noun rabindranath_tagore

1 sense of rabindranath tagore                    

Sense 1
Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, Sir Rabindranath Tagore
  -> writer, author
   => abstractor, abstracter
   => alliterator
   => authoress
   => biographer
   => coauthor, joint author
   => commentator, reviewer
   => compiler
   => contributor
   => cyberpunk
   => drafter
   => dramatist, playwright
   => essayist, litterateur
   => folk writer
   => framer
   => gagman, gagster, gagwriter
   => ghostwriter, ghost
   => Gothic romancer
   => hack, hack writer, literary hack
   => journalist
   => librettist
   => lyricist, lyrist
   => novelist
   => pamphleteer
   => paragrapher
   => poet
   => polemicist, polemist, polemic
   => rhymer, rhymester, versifier, poetizer, poetiser
   => scenarist
   => scriptwriter
   => space writer
   => speechwriter
   => tragedian
   => wordmonger
   => word-painter
   => wordsmith
   HAS INSTANCE=> Aiken, Conrad Aiken, Conrad Potter Aiken
   HAS INSTANCE=> Alger, Horatio Alger
   HAS INSTANCE=> Algren, Nelson Algren
   HAS INSTANCE=> Andersen, Hans Christian Andersen
   HAS INSTANCE=> Anderson, Sherwood Anderson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Aragon, Louis Aragon
   HAS INSTANCE=> Asch, Sholem Asch, Shalom Asch, Sholom Asch
   HAS INSTANCE=> Asimov, Isaac Asimov
   HAS INSTANCE=> Auchincloss, Louis Auchincloss, Louis Stanton Auchincloss
   HAS INSTANCE=> Austen, Jane Austen
   HAS INSTANCE=> Baldwin, James Baldwin, James Arthur Baldwin
   HAS INSTANCE=> Baraka, Imamu Amiri Baraka, LeRoi Jones
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Baum, Frank Baum, Lyman Frank Brown
   HAS INSTANCE=> Beauvoir, Simone de Beauvoir
   HAS INSTANCE=> Beckett, Samuel Beckett
   HAS INSTANCE=> Beerbohm, Max Beerbohm, Sir Henry Maxmilian Beerbohm
   HAS INSTANCE=> Belloc, Hilaire Belloc, Joseph Hilaire Peter Belloc
   HAS INSTANCE=> Bellow, Saul Bellow, Solomon Bellow
   HAS INSTANCE=> Benchley, Robert Benchley, Robert Charles Benchley
   HAS INSTANCE=> Benet, William Rose Benet
   HAS INSTANCE=> Bierce, Ambrose Bierce, Ambrose Gwinett Bierce
   HAS INSTANCE=> Boell, Heinrich Boell, Heinrich Theodor Boell
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Borges, Jorge Borges, Jorge Luis Borges
   HAS INSTANCE=> Boswell, James Boswell
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Bradbury, Ray Bradbury, Ray Douglas Bradbury
   HAS INSTANCE=> Bronte, Charlotte Bronte
   HAS INSTANCE=> Bronte, Emily Bronte, Emily Jane Bronte, Currer Bell
   HAS INSTANCE=> Bronte, Anne Bronte
   HAS INSTANCE=> Browne, Charles Farrar Browne, Artemus Ward
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Burnett, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Frances Eliza Hodgson Burnett
   HAS INSTANCE=> Burroughs, Edgar Rice Burroughs
   HAS INSTANCE=> Burroughs, William Burroughs, William S. Burroughs, William Seward Burroughs
   HAS INSTANCE=> Butler, Samuel Butler
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Caldwell, Erskine Caldwell, Erskine Preston Caldwell
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Chandler, Raymond Chandler, Raymond Thornton Chandler
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Christie, Agatha Christie, Dame Agatha Mary Clarissa Christie
   HAS INSTANCE=> Churchill, Winston Churchill, Winston S. Churchill, Sir Winston Leonard Spenser Churchill
   HAS INSTANCE=> Clemens, Samuel Langhorne Clemens, Mark Twain
   HAS INSTANCE=> Cocteau, Jean Cocteau
   HAS INSTANCE=> Colette, Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, Sidonie-Gabrielle Claudine Colette
   HAS INSTANCE=> Collins, Wilkie Collins, William Wilkie Collins
   HAS INSTANCE=> Conan Doyle, A. Conan Doyle, Arthur Conan Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
   HAS INSTANCE=> Conrad, Joseph Conrad, Teodor Josef Konrad Korzeniowski
   HAS INSTANCE=> Cooper, James Fenimore Cooper
   HAS INSTANCE=> Crane, Stephen Crane
   HAS INSTANCE=> cummings, e. e. cummings, Edward Estlin Cummings
   HAS INSTANCE=> Day, Clarence Day, Clarence Shepard Day Jr.
   HAS INSTANCE=> Defoe, Daniel Defoe
   HAS INSTANCE=> De Quincey, Thomas De Quincey
   HAS INSTANCE=> Dickens, Charles Dickens, Charles John Huffam Dickens
   HAS INSTANCE=> Didion, Joan Didion
   HAS INSTANCE=> Dinesen, Isak Dinesen, Blixen, Karen Blixen, Baroness Karen Blixen
   HAS INSTANCE=> Doctorow, E. L. Doctorow, Edgard Lawrence Doctorow
   HAS INSTANCE=> Dos Passos, John Dos Passos, John Roderigo Dos Passos
   HAS INSTANCE=> Dostoyevsky, Dostoevski, Dostoevsky, Feodor Dostoyevsky, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Feodor Dostoevski, Fyodor Dostoevski, Feodor Dostoevsky, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky, Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky, Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoevski, Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevski, Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky, Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky
   HAS INSTANCE=> Dreiser, Theodore Dreiser, Theodore Herman Albert Dreiser
   HAS INSTANCE=> Dumas, Alexandre Dumas
   HAS INSTANCE=> du Maurier, George du Maurier, George Louis Palmella Busson du Maurier
   HAS INSTANCE=> du Maurier, Daphne du Maurier, Dame Daphne du Maurier
   HAS INSTANCE=> Durrell, Lawrence Durrell, Lawrence George Durrell
   HAS INSTANCE=> Ehrenberg, Ilya Ehrenberg, Ilya Grigorievich Ehrenberg
   HAS INSTANCE=> Eliot, George Eliot, Mary Ann Evans
   HAS INSTANCE=> Ellison, Ralph Ellison, Ralph Waldo Ellison
   HAS INSTANCE=> Emerson, Ralph Waldo Emerson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Farrell, James Thomas Farrell
   HAS INSTANCE=> Ferber, Edna Ferber
   HAS INSTANCE=> Fielding, Henry Fielding
   HAS INSTANCE=> Fitzgerald, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald
   HAS INSTANCE=> Flaubert, Gustave Flaubert
   HAS INSTANCE=> Fleming, Ian Fleming, Ian Lancaster Fleming
   HAS INSTANCE=> Ford, Ford Madox Ford, Ford Hermann Hueffer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Forester, C. S. Forester, Cecil Scott Forester
   HAS INSTANCE=> France, Anatole France, Jacques Anatole Francois Thibault
   HAS INSTANCE=> Franklin, Benjamin Franklin
   HAS INSTANCE=> Fuentes, Carlos Fuentes
   HAS INSTANCE=> Gaboriau, Emile Gaboriau
   HAS INSTANCE=> Galsworthy, John Galsworthy
   HAS INSTANCE=> Gardner, Erle Stanley Gardner
   HAS INSTANCE=> Gaskell, Elizabeth Gaskell, Elizabeth Cleghorn Stevenson Gaskell
   HAS INSTANCE=> Geisel, Theodor Seuss Geisel, Dr. Seuss
   HAS INSTANCE=> Gibran, Kahlil Gibran
   HAS INSTANCE=> Gide, Andre Gide, Andre Paul Guillaume Gide
   HAS INSTANCE=> Gjellerup, Karl Gjellerup
   HAS INSTANCE=> Gogol, Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol
   HAS INSTANCE=> Golding, William Golding, Sir William Gerald Golding
   HAS INSTANCE=> Goldsmith, Oliver Goldsmith
   HAS INSTANCE=> Gombrowicz, Witold Gombrowicz
   HAS INSTANCE=> Goncourt, Edmond de Goncourt, Edmond Louis Antoine Huot de Goncourt
   HAS INSTANCE=> Goncourt, Jules de Goncourt, Jules Alfred Huot de Goncourt
   HAS INSTANCE=> Gordimer, Nadine Gordimer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Gorky, Maksim Gorky, Gorki, Maxim Gorki, Aleksey Maksimovich Peshkov, Aleksey Maximovich Peshkov
   HAS INSTANCE=> Grahame, Kenneth Grahame
   HAS INSTANCE=> Grass, Gunter Grass, Gunter Wilhelm Grass
   HAS INSTANCE=> Graves, Robert Graves, Robert Ranke Graves
   HAS INSTANCE=> Greene, Graham Greene, Henry Graham Greene
   HAS INSTANCE=> Grey, Zane Grey
   HAS INSTANCE=> Grimm, Jakob Grimm, Jakob Ludwig Karl Grimm
   HAS INSTANCE=> Grimm, Wilhelm Grimm, Wilhelm Karl Grimm
   HAS INSTANCE=> Haggard, Rider Haggard, Sir Henry Rider Haggard
   HAS INSTANCE=> Haldane, Elizabeth Haldane, Elizabeth Sanderson Haldane
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hale, Edward Everett Hale
   HAS INSTANCE=> Haley, Alex Haley
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hall, Radclyffe Hall, Marguerite Radclyffe Hall
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hammett, Dashiell Hammett, Samuel Dashiell Hammett
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hamsun, Knut Hamsun, Knut Pedersen
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hardy, Thomas Hardy
   HAS INSTANCE=> Harris, Frank Harris, James Thomas Harris
   HAS INSTANCE=> Harris, Joel Harris, Joel Chandler Harris
   HAS INSTANCE=> Harte, Bret Harte
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hasek, Jaroslav Hasek
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hawthorne, Nathaniel Hawthorne
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hecht, Ben Hecht
   HAS INSTANCE=> Heinlein, Robert A. Heinlein, Robert Anson Heinlein
   HAS INSTANCE=> Heller, Joseph Heller
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hemingway, Ernest Hemingway
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hesse, Hermann Hesse
   HAS INSTANCE=> Heyse, Paul Heyse, Paul Johann Ludwig von Heyse
   HAS INSTANCE=> Heyward, DuBois Heyward, Edwin DuBois Hayward
   HAS INSTANCE=> Higginson, Thomas Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Storrow Higginson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hoffmann, E. T. A. Hoffmann, Ernst Theodor Amadeus Hoffmann, Ernst Theodor Wilhelm Hoffmann
   HAS INSTANCE=> Holmes, Oliver Wendell Holmes
   HAS INSTANCE=> Howells, William Dean Howells
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hoyle, Edmond Hoyle
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hubbard, L. Ron Hubbard
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hughes, Langston Hughes, James Langston Hughes
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hunt, Leigh Hunt, James Henry Leigh Hunt
   HAS INSTANCE=> Huxley, Aldous Huxley, Aldous Leonard Huxley
   HAS INSTANCE=> Irving, John Irving
   HAS INSTANCE=> Irving, Washington Irving
   HAS INSTANCE=> Isherwood, Christopher Isherwood, Christopher William Bradshaw Isherwood
   HAS INSTANCE=> Jackson, Helen Hunt Jackson, Helen Maria Fiske Hunt Jackson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Jacobs, Jane Jacobs
   HAS INSTANCE=> Jacobs, W. W. Jacobs, William Wymark Jacobs
   HAS INSTANCE=> James, Henry James
   HAS INSTANCE=> Jensen, Johannes Vilhelm Jensen
   HAS INSTANCE=> Johnson, Samuel Johnson, Dr. Johnson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Jong, Erica Jong
   HAS INSTANCE=> Joyce, James Joyce, James Augustine Aloysius Joyce
   HAS INSTANCE=> Kafka, Franz Kafka
   HAS INSTANCE=> Keller, Helen Keller, Helen Adams Keller
   HAS INSTANCE=> Kerouac, Jack Kerouac, Jean-Louis Lebris de Kerouac
   HAS INSTANCE=> Kesey, Ken Kesey, Ken Elton Kesey
   HAS INSTANCE=> Kipling, Rudyard Kipling, Joseph Rudyard Kipling
   HAS INSTANCE=> Koestler, Arthur Koestler
   HAS INSTANCE=> La Fontaine, Jean de La Fontaine
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lardner, Ring Lardner, Ringgold Wilmer Lardner
   HAS INSTANCE=> La Rochefoucauld, Francois de La Rochefoucauld
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lawrence, D. H. Lawrence, David Herbert Lawrence
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lawrence, T. E. Lawrence, Thomas Edward Lawrence, Lawrence of Arabia
   HAS INSTANCE=> le Carre, John le Carre, David John Moore Cornwell
   HAS INSTANCE=> Leonard, Elmore Leonard, Elmore John Leonard, Dutch Leonard
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lermontov, Mikhail Yurievich Lermontov
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lessing, Doris Lessing, Doris May Lessing
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lewis, C. S. Lewis, Clive Staples Lewis
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lewis, Sinclair Lewis, Harry Sinclair Lewis
   HAS INSTANCE=> London, Jack London, John Griffith Chaney
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lowry, Malcolm Lowry, Clarence Malcolm Lowry
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lyly, John Lyly
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lytton, First Baron Lytton, Bulwer-Lytton, Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton
   HAS INSTANCE=> Mailer, Norman Mailer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Malamud, Bernard Malamud
   HAS INSTANCE=> Malory, Thomas Malory, Sir Thomas Malory
   HAS INSTANCE=> Malraux, Andre Malraux
   HAS INSTANCE=> Mann, Thomas Mann
   HAS INSTANCE=> Mansfield, Katherine Mansfield, Kathleen Mansfield Beauchamp
   HAS INSTANCE=> Manzoni, Alessandro Manzoni
   HAS INSTANCE=> Marquand, John Marquand, John Philip Marquand
   HAS INSTANCE=> Marsh, Ngaio Marsh
   HAS INSTANCE=> Mason, A. E. W. Mason, Alfred Edward Woodley Mason
   HAS INSTANCE=> Maugham, Somerset Maugham, W. Somerset Maugham, William Somerset Maugham
   HAS INSTANCE=> Maupassant, Guy de Maupassant, Henri Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant
   HAS INSTANCE=> Mauriac, Francois Mauriac, Francois Charles Mauriac
   HAS INSTANCE=> Maurois, Andre Maurois, Emile Herzog
   HAS INSTANCE=> McCarthy, Mary McCarthy, Mary Therese McCarthy
   HAS INSTANCE=> McCullers, Carson McCullers, Carson Smith McCullers
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Melville, Herman Melville
   HAS INSTANCE=> Merton, Thomas Merton
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Miller, Henry Miller, Henry Valentine Miller
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   HAS INSTANCE=> O'Connor, Flannery O'Connor, Mary Flannery O'Connor
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Pasternak, Boris Pasternak, Boris Leonidovich Pasternak
   HAS INSTANCE=> Paton, Alan Paton, Alan Stewart Paton
   HAS INSTANCE=> Percy, Walker Percy
   HAS INSTANCE=> Petronius, Gaius Petronius, Petronius Arbiter
   HAS INSTANCE=> Plath, Sylvia Plath
   HAS INSTANCE=> Pliny, Pliny the Elder, Gaius Plinius Secundus
   HAS INSTANCE=> Pliny, Pliny the Younger, Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus
   HAS INSTANCE=> Poe, Edgar Allan Poe
   HAS INSTANCE=> Porter, William Sydney Porter, O. Henry
   HAS INSTANCE=> Porter, Katherine Anne Porter
   HAS INSTANCE=> Post, Emily Post, Emily Price Post
   HAS INSTANCE=> Pound, Ezra Pound, Ezra Loomis Pound
   HAS INSTANCE=> Powys, John Cowper Powys
   HAS INSTANCE=> Powys, Theodore Francis Powys
   HAS INSTANCE=> Powys, Llewelyn Powys
   HAS INSTANCE=> Pyle, Howard Pyle
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Rand, Ayn Rand
   HAS INSTANCE=> Richler, Mordecai Richler
   HAS INSTANCE=> Roberts, Kenneth Roberts
   HAS INSTANCE=> Roosevelt, Eleanor Roosevelt, Anna Eleanor Roosevelt
   HAS INSTANCE=> Roth, Philip Roth, Philip Milton Roth
   HAS INSTANCE=> Rousseau, Jean-Jacques Rousseau
   HAS INSTANCE=> Runyon, Damon Runyon, Alfred Damon Runyon
   HAS INSTANCE=> Rushdie, Salman Rushdie, Ahmed Salman Rushdie
   HAS INSTANCE=> Russell, George William Russell, A.E.
   HAS INSTANCE=> Sade, de Sade, Comte Donatien Alphonse Francois de Sade, Marquis de Sade
   HAS INSTANCE=> Salinger, J. D. Salinger, Jerome David Salinger
   HAS INSTANCE=> Sand, George Sand, Amandine Aurore Lucie Dupin, Baroness Dudevant
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Schiller, Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Shute, Nevil Shute, Nevil Shute Norway
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   HAS INSTANCE=> Sinclair, Upton Sinclair, Upton Beall Sinclair
   HAS INSTANCE=> Singer, Isaac Bashevis Singer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Smollett, Tobias Smollett, Tobias George Smollett
   HAS INSTANCE=> Snow, C. P. Snow, Charles Percy Snow, Baron Snow of Leicester
   HAS INSTANCE=> Solzhenitsyn, Alexander Isayevich Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn
   HAS INSTANCE=> Sontag, Susan Sontag
   HAS INSTANCE=> Spark, Muriel Spark, Dame Muriel Spark, Muriel Sarah Spark
   HAS INSTANCE=> Spillane, Mickey Spillane, Frank Morrison Spillane
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stael, Madame de Stael, Baronne Anne Louise Germaine Necker de Steal-Holstein
   HAS INSTANCE=> Steele, Sir Richrd Steele
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stein, Gertrude Stein
   HAS INSTANCE=> Steinbeck, John Steinbeck, John Ernst Steinbeck
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stendhal, Marie Henri Beyle
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stephen, Sir Leslie Stephen
   HAS INSTANCE=> Sterne, Laurence Sterne
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stevenson, Robert Louis Stevenson, Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stockton, Frank Stockton, Francis Richard Stockton
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stoker, Bram Stoker, Abraham Stoker
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stowe, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Harriet Elizabeth Beecher Stowe
   HAS INSTANCE=> Styron, William Styron
   HAS INSTANCE=> Sue, Eugene Sue
   HAS INSTANCE=> Symonds, John Addington Symonds
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, Sir Rabindranath Tagore
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tarbell, Ida Tarbell, Ida M. Tarbell, Ida Minerva Tarbell
   HAS INSTANCE=> Thackeray, William Makepeace Thackeray
   HAS INSTANCE=> Thoreau, Henry David Thoreau
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tocqueville, Alexis de Tocqueville, Alexis Charles Henri Maurice de Tocqueville
   HAS INSTANCE=> Toklas, Alice B. Toklas
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tolkien, J.R.R. Tolkien, John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tolstoy, Leo Tolstoy, Count Lev Nikolayevitch Tolstoy
   HAS INSTANCE=> Trollope, Anthony Trollope
   HAS INSTANCE=> Turgenev, Ivan Turgenev, Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev
   HAS INSTANCE=> Undset, Sigrid Undset
   HAS INSTANCE=> Untermeyer, Louis Untermeyer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Updike, John Updike, John Hoyer Updike
   HAS INSTANCE=> Van Doren, Carl Van Doren, Carl Clinton Van Doren
   HAS INSTANCE=> Vargas Llosa, Mario Vargas Llosa, Jorge Mario Pedro Vargas Llosa
   HAS INSTANCE=> Verne, Jules Verne
   HAS INSTANCE=> Vidal, Gore Vidal, Eugene Luther Vidal
   HAS INSTANCE=> Voltaire, Arouet, Francois-Marie Arouet
   HAS INSTANCE=> Vonnegut, Kurt Vonnegut
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wain, John Wain, John Barrington Wain
   HAS INSTANCE=> Walker, Alice Walker, Alice Malsenior Walker
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wallace, Edgar Wallace, Richard Horatio Edgar Wallace
   HAS INSTANCE=> Walpole, Horace Walpole, Horatio Walpole, Fourth Earl of Orford
   HAS INSTANCE=> Walton, Izaak Walton
   HAS INSTANCE=> Ward, Mrs. Humphrey Ward, Mary Augusta Arnold Ward
   HAS INSTANCE=> Warren, Robert Penn Warren
   HAS INSTANCE=> Waugh, Evelyn Waugh, Evelyn Arthur Saint John Waugh
   HAS INSTANCE=> Webb, Beatrice Webb, Martha Beatrice Potter Webb
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wells, H. G. Wells, Herbert George Wells
   HAS INSTANCE=> Welty, Eudora Welty
   HAS INSTANCE=> Werfel, Franz Werfel
   HAS INSTANCE=> West, Rebecca West, Dame Rebecca West, Cicily Isabel Fairfield
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wharton, Edith Wharton, Edith Newbold Jones Wharton
   HAS INSTANCE=> White, E. B. White, Elwyn Brooks White
   HAS INSTANCE=> White, Patrick White, Patrick Victor Martindale White
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wiesel, Elie Wiesel, Eliezer Wiesel
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wilde, Oscar Wilde, Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wilder, Thornton Wilder, Thornton Niven Wilder
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wilson, Sir Angus Wilson, Angus Frank Johnstone Wilson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wilson, Harriet Wilson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wister, Owen Wister
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wodehouse, P. G. Wodehouse, Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wolfe, Thomas Wolfe, Thomas Clayton Wolfe
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wolfe, Tom Wolfe, Thomas Wolfe, Thomas Kennerly Wolfe Jr.
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wollstonecraft, Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wood, Mrs. Henry Wood, Ellen Price Wood
   HAS INSTANCE=> Woolf, Virginia Woolf, Adeline Virginia Stephen Woolf
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wouk, Herman Wouk
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wright, Richard Wright
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wright, Willard Huntington Wright, S. S. Van Dine
   HAS INSTANCE=> Zangwill, Israel Zangwill
   HAS INSTANCE=> Zweig, Stefan Zweig
  -> philosopher
   => nativist
   => Cynic
   => eclectic, eclecticist
   => empiricist
   => epistemologist
   => esthetician, aesthetician
   => ethicist, ethician
   => existentialist, existentialist philosopher, existential philosopher
   => gymnosophist
   => libertarian
   => mechanist
   => moralist
   => naturalist
   => necessitarian
   => nominalist
   => pluralist
   => pre-Socratic
   => realist
   => Scholastic
   => Sophist
   => Stoic
   => transcendentalist
   => yogi
   HAS INSTANCE=> Abelard, Peter Abelard, Pierre Abelard
   HAS INSTANCE=> Anaxagoras
   HAS INSTANCE=> Anaximander
   HAS INSTANCE=> Anaximenes
   HAS INSTANCE=> Arendt, Hannah Arendt
   HAS INSTANCE=> Aristotle
   HAS INSTANCE=> Averroes, ibn-Roshd, Abul-Walid Mohammed ibn-Ahmad Ibn-Mohammed ibn-Roshd
   HAS INSTANCE=> Avicenna, ibn-Sina, Abu Ali al-Husain ibn Abdallah ibn Sina
   HAS INSTANCE=> Bacon, Francis Bacon, Sir Francis Bacon, Baron Verulam, 1st Baron Verulam, Viscount St. Albans
   HAS INSTANCE=> Bentham, Jeremy Bentham
   HAS INSTANCE=> Bergson, Henri Bergson, Henri Louis Bergson
   HAS INSTANCE=> Berkeley, Bishop Berkeley, George Berkeley
   HAS INSTANCE=> Boethius, Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius
   HAS INSTANCE=> Bruno, Giordano Bruno
   HAS INSTANCE=> Buber, Martin Buber
   HAS INSTANCE=> Cassirer, Ernst Cassirer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Cleanthes
   HAS INSTANCE=> Comte, Auguste Comte, Isidore Auguste Marie Francois Comte
   HAS INSTANCE=> Condorcet, Marquis de Condorcet, Marie Jean Antoine Nicolas Caritat
   HAS INSTANCE=> Confucius, Kongfuze, K'ung Futzu, Kong the Master
   HAS INSTANCE=> Democritus
   HAS INSTANCE=> Derrida, Jacques Derrida
   HAS INSTANCE=> Descartes, Rene Descartes
   HAS INSTANCE=> Dewey, John Dewey
   HAS INSTANCE=> Diderot, Denis Diderot
   HAS INSTANCE=> Diogenes
   HAS INSTANCE=> Empedocles
   HAS INSTANCE=> Epictetus
   HAS INSTANCE=> Epicurus
   HAS INSTANCE=> Haeckel, Ernst Heinrich Haeckel
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hartley, David Hartley
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel
   HAS INSTANCE=> Heraclitus
   HAS INSTANCE=> Herbart, Johann Friedrich Herbart
   HAS INSTANCE=> Herder, Johann Gottfried von Herder
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hobbes, Thomas Hobbes
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hume, David Hume
   HAS INSTANCE=> Husserl, Edmund Husserl
   HAS INSTANCE=> Hypatia
   HAS INSTANCE=> James, William James
   HAS INSTANCE=> Kant, Immanuel Kant
   HAS INSTANCE=> Kierkegaard, Soren Kierkegaard, Soren Aabye Kierkegaard
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lao-tzu, Lao-tse, Lao-zi
   HAS INSTANCE=> Leibniz, Leibnitz, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm Leibnitz
   HAS INSTANCE=> Locke, John Locke
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lucretius, Titus Lucretius Carus
   HAS INSTANCE=> Lully, Raymond Lully, Ramon Lully
   HAS INSTANCE=> Mach, Ernst Mach
   HAS INSTANCE=> Machiavelli, Niccolo Machiavelli
   HAS INSTANCE=> Maimonides, Moses Maimonides, Rabbi Moses Ben Maimon
   HAS INSTANCE=> Malebranche, Nicolas de Malebranche
   HAS INSTANCE=> Marcuse, Herbert Marcuse
   HAS INSTANCE=> Marx, Karl Marx
   HAS INSTANCE=> Mead, George Herbert Mead
   HAS INSTANCE=> Mill, John Mill, John Stuart Mill
   HAS INSTANCE=> Mill, James Mill
   HAS INSTANCE=> Montesquieu, Baron de la Brede et de Montesquieu, Charles Louis de Secondat
   HAS INSTANCE=> Moore, G. E. Moore, George Edward Moore
   HAS INSTANCE=> Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
   HAS INSTANCE=> Occam, William of Occam, Ockham, William of Ockham
   HAS INSTANCE=> Origen
   HAS INSTANCE=> Ortega y Gasset, Jose Ortega y Gasset
   HAS INSTANCE=> Parmenides
   HAS INSTANCE=> Pascal, Blaise Pascal
   HAS INSTANCE=> Peirce, Charles Peirce, Charles Sanders Peirce
   HAS INSTANCE=> Perry, Ralph Barton Perry
   HAS INSTANCE=> Plato
   HAS INSTANCE=> Plotinus
   => Popper, Karl Popper, Sir Karl Raimund Popper
   HAS INSTANCE=> Pythagoras
   HAS INSTANCE=> Quine, W. V. Quine, Willard Van Orman Quine
   HAS INSTANCE=> Radhakrishnan, Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, Sir Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan
   HAS INSTANCE=> Reid, Thomas Reid
   HAS INSTANCE=> Rousseau, Jean-Jacques Rousseau
   HAS INSTANCE=> Russell, Bertrand Russell, Bertrand Arthur William Russell, Earl Russell
   HAS INSTANCE=> Schopenhauer, Arthur Schopenhauer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Schweitzer, Albert Schweitzer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Seneca, Lucius Annaeus Seneca
   HAS INSTANCE=> Socrates
   HAS INSTANCE=> Spencer, Herbert Spencer
   HAS INSTANCE=> Spengler, Oswald Spengler
   HAS INSTANCE=> Spinoza, de Spinoza, Baruch de Spinoza, Benedict de Spinoza
   HAS INSTANCE=> Steiner, Rudolf Steiner
   HAS INSTANCE=> Stewart, Dugald Stewart
   HAS INSTANCE=> Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, Sir Rabindranath Tagore
   HAS INSTANCE=> Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
   HAS INSTANCE=> Thales, Thales of Miletus
   HAS INSTANCE=> Theophrastus
   HAS INSTANCE=> Weil, Simone Weil
   HAS INSTANCE=> Whitehead, Alfred North Whitehead
   HAS INSTANCE=> Williams, Sir Bernard Williams, Bernard Arthur Owen Williams
   HAS INSTANCE=> Wittgenstein, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Ludwig Josef Johan Wittgenstein
   HAS INSTANCE=> Xenophanes
   HAS INSTANCE=> Zeno, Zeno of Citium
   HAS INSTANCE=> Zeno, Zeno of Elea




--- Grep of noun rabindranath_tagore
rabindranath tagore
sir rabindranath tagore



IN WEBGEN [10000/16815]

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Wikipedia - Banksia canei -- Shrub in the family Proteaceae found in subalpine areas of the Great Dividing Range in southeastern Australia.
Wikipedia - Banksia ericifolia -- A woody shrub of the family Proteaceae native to Australia and found in Central and Northern New South Wales
Wikipedia - Banksia kingii -- Extinct species of tree or shrub in the family Proteaceae found in Tasmania
Wikipedia - Banksia longicarpa -- Fossil species of tree or shrub in the family Proteaceae found in South Australia
Wikipedia - Banksia marginata -- Tree or woody shrub in the family Proteaceae found throughout much of southeastern Australia
Wikipedia - Banksia novae-zelandiae -- Extinct species of shrub in the family Proteceae found in the South Island of New Zealand
Wikipedia - Banksia oblongifolia -- A flowering plant in the family Proteaceae found along the eastern coast of Australia in New South Wales and Queensland
Wikipedia - Banksia seminuda -- Species of tree in the family Proteaceae found in south west Western Australia
Wikipedia - Banksia speciosa -- Large shrub or small tree in the family Proteaceae found on the south coast of Western Australia
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