Gitanjali. Rabindranath Tagore

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.

      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 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.

      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?

      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.

      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.

      FRUIT-GATHERING

       Table of Contents

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       XIV

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       XVI

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       XX

       XXI

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       XXVII

       XXVIII

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       XXX

       XXXI

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       XXXIV

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       XL

       XLI

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