Complete Works. Rabindranath Tagore

dark and the face of the sky is veiled;

       Yet, bird, O my bird, listen to me, do not close your wings.

       That is not the gloom of the leaves of the forest, that is the sea swelling like a dark black snake.

       That is not the dance of the flowering jasmine, that is flashing foam.

       Ah, where is the sunny green shore, where is your nest?

       Bird, O my bird, listen to me, do not close your wings.

       The lone night lies along your path, the dawn sleeps behind the shadowy hills.

       The stars hold their breath counting the hours, the feeble moon swims the deep night.

       Bird, O my bird, listen to me, do not close your wings.

       There is no hope, no fear for you.

       There is no word, no whisper, no cry.

       There is no home, no bed for rest.

       There is only your own pair of wings and the pathless sky.

       Bird, O my bird, listen to me, do not close your wings.

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      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 mind 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.

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      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 lands— because I am hunting for the golden stag.

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      I remember a day in my childhood I floated a paper boat in the ditch.

       It was a wet day of July; I was alone and happy over my play.

       I floated my paper boat in the ditch.

       Suddenly the storm clouds thickened, winds came in gusts, and rain poured in torrents.

       Rills of muddy water rushed and swelled the stream and sunk my boat.

       Bitterly I thought in my mind that the storm came on purpose to spoil my happiness; all its malice was against me.

       The cloudy day of July is long today, and I have been musing over all those games in life wherein I was loser.

       I was blaming my fate for the many tricks it played on me, when suddenly I remembered the paper boat that sank in the ditch.

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      The day is not yet done, the fair is not over, the fair on the river-bank.

       I had feared that my time had been squandered and my last penny lost.

       But no, my brother, I have still something left.

       My fate has not cheated me of everything.

       The selling and buying are over.

       All the dues on both sides have been gathered in, and it is time for me to go home.

       But, gatekeeper, do you ask for your toll?

       Do not fear, I have still something left.

       My fate has not cheated me of everything.

       The lull in the wind threatens storm, and the lowering clouds in the west bode no good.

       The hushed water waits for the wind.

       I hurry to cross the river before the night overtakes me.

       O ferryman, you want your fee!

       Yes, brother, I have still something left.

       My fate has not cheated me of everything.

       In the wayside under the tree sits the beggar.

       Alas, he looks at my face with a timid hope!

       He thinks I am rich with the day's profit.

       Yes, brother, I have still something left.

       My fate has not cheated me of everything.

       The night grows dark and the road lonely.

       Fireflies gleam among the leaves.

       Who are you that follow me with stealthy silent steps?

       Ah, I know, it is your desire to rob me of all my gains.

       I will not disappoint you!

       For I still have something left, and my fate has not cheated me of everything.

       At midnight I reach home.

       My hands are empty.

       You are waiting with anxious eyes at my door, sleepless and silent.

       Like a timorous bird you fly to my breast with eager love.

       Ay, ay, my God, much remains still.