The Complete Poetical Works of Rabindranath Tagore. Rabindranath Tagore

rose a murmur like the angry hum of bees disturbed in their hive; and the students muttered at the shameless insolence of that outcast.

      Master Guatama rose from his seat, stretched out his arms, took the boy to his bosom, and said, "Best of all Brahmins art thou, my child. Thou hast the noblest heritage of truth."

LXV

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      May be there is one house in this city where the gate opens for ever this morning at the touch of the sunrise, where the errand of the light is fulfilled.

      The flowers have opened in hedges and gardens, and may be there is one heart that has found in them this morning the gift that has been on its voyage from endless time.

LXVI

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      Listen, my heart, in his flute is the music of the smell of wild flowers, of the glistening leaves and gleaming water, of shadows resonant with bees' wings.

      The flute steals his smile from my friend's lips and spreads it over my life.

LXVII

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      You always stand alone beyond the stream of my songs.

      The waves of my tunes wash your feet but I know not how to reach them.

      This play of mine with you is a play from afar.

      It is the pain of separation that melts into melody through my flute.

      I wait for the time when your boat crosses over to my shore and you take my flute into your own hands.

LXVIII

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      Suddenly the window of my heart flew open this morning, the window that looks out on your heart.

      I wondered to see that the name by which you know me is written in April leaves and flowers, and I sat silent.

      The curtain was blown away for a moment between my songs and yours.

      I found that your morning light was full of my own mute songs unsung; I thought that I would learn them at your feet—and I sat silent.

LXIX

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      You were in the centre of my heart, therefore when my heart wandered she never found you; you hid yourself from my loves and hopes till the last, for you were always in them.

      You were the inmost joy in the play of my youth, and when I was too busy with the play the joy was passed by.

      You sang to me in the ecstasies of my life and I forgot to sing to you.

LXX

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      When you hold your lamp in the sky it throws its light on my face and its shadow falls over you.

      When I hold the lamp of love in my heart its light falls on you and I am left standing behind in the shadow.

LXXI

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      O the waves, the sky-devouring waves, glistening with light, dancing with life, the waves of eddying joy, rushing for ever.

      The stars rock upon them, thoughts of every tint are cast up out of the deep and scattered on the beach of life.

      Birth and death rise and fall with their rhythm, and the sea-gull of my heart spreads its wings crying in delight.

LXXII

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      The joy ran from all the world to build my body.

      The lights of the skies kissed and kissed her till she woke.

      Flowers of hurrying summers sighed in her breath and voices of winds and water sang in her movements.

      The passion of the tide of colours in clouds and in forests flowed into her life, and the music of all things caressed her limbs into shape.

      She is my bride,—she has lighted her lamp in my house.

LXXIII

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      The spring with its leaves and flowers has come into my body.

      The bees hum there the morning long, and the winds idly play with the shadows.

      A sweet fountain springs up from the heart of my heart.

      My eyes are washed with delight like the dew-bathed morning, and life is quivering in all my limbs like the sounding strings of the lute.

      Are you wandering alone by the shore of my life, where the tide is in flood, O lover of my endless days?

      Are my dreams flitting round you like the moths with their many-coloured wings?

      And are those your songs that are echoing in the dark eaves of my being?

      Who but you can hear the hum of the crowded hours that sounds in my veins to-day, the glad steps that dance in my breast, the clamour of the restless life beating its wings in my body?

LXXIV

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      My bonds are cut, my debts are paid, my door has been opened, I go everywhere.

      They crouch in their corner and weave their web of pale hours, they count their coins sitting in the dust and call me back.

      But my sword is forged, my armour is put on, my horse is eager to run.

      I shall win my kingdom.

LXXV

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      It was only the other day that I came to your earth, naked and nameless, with a wailing cry.

      To-day my voice is glad, while you, my lord, stand aside to make room that I may fill my life.

      Even when I bring you my songs for an offering I have the secret hope that men will come and love me for them.

      You love to discover that I love this world where you have brought me.

LXXVI

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      Timidly I cowered