Complete Works. Rabindranath Tagore

and the woodland breeze kissed my forehead as it kisses the flowers.

      75

      The women dapped their hands, and laughed their obscene laugh, and with veils dragging 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 crackling fire, but the words ever rang in my ears, “What God unknown are you?”

CROSSING

       Table of Contents

      1

      The Sun breaks out from the clouds on the day when I must go.

      And the sky gazes upon the earth like God’s wonder.

      My heart is sad, for it knows not from where comes its call.

      Does the breeze bring the whisper of the world which I leave behind with its music of tears melting in the sunny silence? or the breath of the island in the faraway sea basking in the Summer of the unknown flowers?

      2

      When the market is over and they return homewards through the dusk,

      I sit at the wayside to watch thee plying thy boat.

      Crossing the dark water with the sunset gleam upon thy sail;

      I see thy silent figure standing at the helm and suddenly catch thy eyes gazing upon me;

      I leave my song; and cry to thee to take me across.

      3

      The wind is up, I set my sail of songs,

      Steersman, sit at the helm.

      For my boat is fretting to be free, to dance in the rhythm of the wind and water.

      The day is spent, il is evening.

      My friends of the shore have taken leave.

      Loose the chain and heave the anchor, we sail by the starlight.

      The wind is stirred into the murmur of music at this time of my departure.

      Steersman, sit at the helm.

      4

      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.

      5

      The scouts of a distant storm have pitched their cloud-tents in the sky; the light has paled; the air is damp with tears in the voiceless shadows of the forest.

      The peace of sadness is in my heart like the brooding silence upon the master’s lute before the music begins.

      My world is still with the expectation of the great pain of thy coming into my life.

      6

      Thou hast done well, my lover, thou hast done well to send me thy fire of pain.

      For my incense never yields its perfume till it burns, and my lamp is blind till it is lighted.

      When my mind is numb its torpor must be stricken by thy love’s lightning; and the very darkness that blots my world burns like a torch when set afire by thy thunder.

      7

      Deliver me from my own shadows, my lord, from the wrecks and confusion of my days. For the night is dark and thy pilgrim is blinded. Hold thou my hand.

      Deliver me from despair.

      Touch with thy flame the lightless lamp of my sorrow.

      Waken my tired strength from its sleep.

      Do not let me linger behind counting my losses. Let the road sing to me of the house at every step. For the night is dark, and thy pilgrim is blinded. Hold thou my hand.

      8

      The lantern which I carry in my hand makes enemy of the darkness of the farther road.

      And this wayside becomes a terror to me, where even the flowering tree frowns like a spectre of scowling menace; and the sound of my own steps comes back to me in the echo of muffled suspicion.

      Therefore I pray for thy own morning light, when the far and the near will kiss each other and death and life will be one in love.

      9

      When thou savest me the steps are lighter in the march of thy worlds.

      When stains are washed away from my heart it brightens the light of thy sun.

      That the bud has not blossomed in beauty in my life spreads sadness in the heart of creation

      When the shroud of darkness will be lifted from my soul it will bring music to thy smile.

      10

      Tnou hast given me thy love, filling the world with thy gifts.

      They are showered upon me when I do not know them, for my heart is asleep and dark is the night.

      Yet though lost in the cavern of my dreams I have been thrilled with fitful gladness;

      And I know that in return for the treasure of thy great worlds thou wilt receive from me one little flower of love in the morning when my heart awakes.

      11

      My eyes have lost their sleep in watching; yet if I do not meet thee still it is sweet to watch.

      My heart sits in the shadow of the rains waiting for thy love; if she is deprived still it is sweet to hope.

      They walk away in their different paths leaving me behind; if I am alone still it is sweet to listen for thy footsteps.

      The wistful face of the earth weaving its autumn mists wakens longing in my heart; if it is in vain still it is sweet to feel the pain of longing.

      12

      Hold thy faith firm, my heart, the day will dawn.

      The seed of promise is deep in the soil, it will sprout.

      Sleep, like a bud, will open its heart to the light, and the silence will find its voice.

      The day is near when thy burden will become thy gift, and thy sufferings will light up thy path.

      13

      The wedding hour is in the twilight, when the birds have sung their last and the winds are at rest on the waters, when the sunset spreads the carpet in the bridal chamber and the lamp is made ready to burn through the night.

      Behind the silent dark walks the Unseen Comer and my heart trembles.

      All songs are hushed, for the service will be read under the evening star.

      14

      In the night when noise is tired the murmur of the sea fills the air.

      The vagrant desires of the day come back to their rest round the lighted lamp.

      Love’s play is stilled into worship, life’s stream touches the deep, and the world of forms comes to its nest in the beauty beyond all forms.

      15

      Who