Gitanjali (song offerings) : a collection of prose translations made by the author from the original Bengali

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GITANJALI

MACMILLAN AND CO.,' LIMITED

LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA
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THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.

TORONTO

GITANJALI

(SONG OFFERINGS)

BY

RABINDRANATH TAGORE

A COLLECTION OF PROSE TRANSLATIONS

MADE BY THE AUTHOR FROM

THE ORIGINAL BENGALI

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

W. B. YEATS

MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON

1913

COPYRIGHT

Formerly issued (1912) in a limited Edition by the India Society

First published by Macmillan & Co. March 1913

Rf printed April. May, June. Jitlv (twt'c**), September

October (three limes), November (twice), and December (t'wicii) 1913

6039

TO

WILLIAM ROTHENSTEIN

INTRODUCTION

A FEW days ago I said to a distinguished
Bengali doctor of medicine, " I know no
German, yet if a translation of a Ger-
man poet had moved me, I would go
to the British Museum and find books
in English that would tell me some-
thing of his life, and of the history of
his thought But though these prose
translations from Rabindranath Tagore
have stirred my blood as nothing has
for years, I shall not know anything
of his life, and of the movements of
thought that have made them possible,
if some Indian traveller will not tell
me." It seemed to him natural that I

should be moved, for he said, " I read

vii b

viii GITANJALI

Rabindranath every day, to read one
line of his is to forget all the troubles
of the world." I said, "An Englishman
living in London in the reign of Richard
the Second had he been shown trans-
lations from Petrarch or from Dante,
would have found no books to answer
his questions, but would have questioned
some Florentine banker or Lombard
merchant as I question you. For all I
know, so abundant and simple is this
poetry, the new Renaissance has been
born in your country and I shall never
know of it except by hearsay." He
answered, " We have other poets, but
none that are his equal ; we call this
the epoch of Rabindranath. No poet
seems to me as famous in Europe as
he is among us. He is as great in
music as in poetry, and his songs are
sung from the west of India into Bur-
mah wherever Bengali is spoken. He
was already famous at nineteen when

INTRODUCTION ix

he wrote his first novel ; and plays,
written when he was but little older,
are still played in Calcutta. I so much
admire the completeness of his life ;
when he was very young he wrote
much of natural objects, he would sit
all day in his garden ; from his twenty-
fifth year or so to his thirty-fifth per-
haps, when he had a great sorrow, he
wrote the most beautiful love poetry
in our language " ; and then he said with
deep emotion, " words can never ex-
press what I owed at seventeen to his
love poetry. After that his art grew
deeper, it became religious and philo-
sophical ; all the aspirations of man-
kind are in his hymns. He is the first
among our saints who has not refused
to live, but has spoken out of Life it-
self, and that is why we give him our
love." I may have changed his well-
chosen words in my memory but not
his thought. "A little while ago he

x GITANJALI

was to read divine service in one of
our churches — we of the Brahma Samaj
use your word ' church ' in English — it
was the largest in Calcutta and not
only was it crowded, people even stand-
ing in the windows, but the streets
were all but impassable because of the
people."

Other Indians came to see me and
their reverence for this man sounded
strange in our world, where we hide
great and little things under the same
veil of obvious comedy and half-serious
depreciation. When we were making
the cathedrals had we a like reverence
for our great men ? " Every morning
at three — I know, for I have seen it " —
one said to me, " he sits immovable in
contemplation, and for two hours does
not awake from his reverie upon the
nature of God. His father, the Maha
Rishi, would sometimes sit there all
through the next day ; once, upon a

INTRODUCTION xi

river, he fell into contemplation because
of the beauty of the landscape, and the
rowers waited for eight hours before
they could continue their journey." He
then told me of Mr. Tagore's family
and how for generations great men
have come out of its cradles. "To-
day," he said, "there are Gogonen-
dranath and Abanindranath Tagore,
who are artists ; and Dwijendranath,
Rabindranath's brother, who is a great
philosopher. The squirrels come from
the boughs and climb on to his knees
and the birds alight upon his hands."
I notice in these men's thought a sense
of visible beauty and meaning as though
they held that doctrine of Nietzsche
that we must not believe in the moral
or intellectual beauty which does not
sooner or latei impress itself upon
physical things. I said, " In the East
you know how to keep a family illustri-
ous. The other day the curator of a

xii GITANJALI

Museum pointed out to me a little
dark-skinned man who was arranging
their Chinese prints and said, * That
is the hereditary connoisseur of the
Mikado, he is the fourteenth of his
family to hold the post.'" He
answered. " When Rabindranath was a
boy he had all round him in his home
literature and music." I thought of
the abundance, of the simplicity of the
poems, and said, " In your countiy is
there much propagandist writing, much
criticism ? We have to do so much,
especially in my own country, that our
minds gradually cease to be creative,
and yet we cannot help it. If our life
was not a continual warfare, we would
not have taste, we would not know
what is good, we would not find hearers
and readers. Four-fifths of our energy
is spent in the quarrel with bad taste,
whether in our own minds or in the
minds of others." " I understand," he

INTRODUCTION xiii

replied, " we too have our propagandist
writing. In the villages they recite
long mythological poems adapted from
the Sanscrit in the Middle Ages, and
they often insert passages telling the
people that they must do their duties."

II

I have carried the manuscript of
these translations about with me for
days, reading it in railway trains, or
on the top of omnibuses and in restaur-
ants, and I have often had to close
it lest some stranger would see how
much it moved me. These lyrics —
which are in the original, my Indians
tell me, full of subtlety of rhythm, of
untranslatable delicacies of colour, of
metrical invention — display in their
thought a world I have dreamed of
all my life long. The work of a
supreme culture, they yet appear as

xiv GITANJALI

much the growth of the common soil
as the grass and the rushes. A tradi-
tion, where poetry and religion are
the same thing, has passed through the
centuries, gathering from learned and
unlearned metaphor and emotion, and
carried back again to the multitude
the thought of the scholar and of the
noble. If the civilization of Bengal
remains unbroken, if that common
mind which — as one divines — runs
through all, is not, as with us, broken
into a dozen minds that know nothing
of each other, something even of what
is most subtle in these verses will have
come, in a few generations, to the
beggar on the roads. When there
was but one mind in England Chaucer
wrote his Troilus and Cressida, and
though he had written to be read, or
to be read out — for our time was
coming on apace — he was sung by
minstrels for a while. Rabindranath

INTRODUCTION xv

Tagore, like Chaucer's forerunners,
writes music for his words, and one
understands at every moment that he
is so abundant, so spontaneous, so
daring in his passion, so full of surprise,
because he is doing something which
has never seemed strange, unnatural,
or in need of defence. These verses
will not lie in little well-printed books
upon ladies' tables, who turn the pages
with indolent hands that they may
sigh over a life without meaning,
which is yet all they can know of life,
or be carried about by students at the
university to be laid aside when the
work of life begins, but as the genera-
tions pass, travellers will hum them
on the highway and men rowing upon
rivers. Lovers, while they await one
another, shall find, in murmuring them,
this love of God a magic gulf wherein
their own more bitter passion may
bathe and renew its youth. At every

xvi GITANJALI

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. The traveller in the red-brown
clothes that he wears that dust may
not show upon him, the girl searching
in her bed for the petals fallen from
the wreath of her royal lover, the
servant or the bride awaiting the
master's home - coming in the empty
house, are images of the heart turning
to God. Flowers and rivers, the
blowing of conch shells, the heavy rain
of the Indian July, or the parching
heat, are images of the moods of that
heart in union or in separation ; and
a man sitting in a boat upon a river
playing upon a lute, like one of those
figures full of mysterious meaning in
a Chinese picture, is God Himself.
A whole people, a whole civilization,

INTRODUCTION xvii

immeasurably strange to us, seems to
have been taken up into this imagina-
tion ; and yet we are not moved
because of its strangeness, but because
we have met our own image, as though
we had walked in Rossetti's willow
wood, or heard, perhaps for the first
time in literature, our voice as in a
dream.

Since the Renaissance the writing of
European saints — however familiar their
metaphor and the general structure of
their thought — has ceased to hold our
attention. We know that we must
at last forsake the world, and we are
accustomed in moments of weariness
or exaltation to consider a voluntary
forsaking; but how can we, who have
read so much poetry, seen so many
paintings, listened to so much music,
where the cry of the flesh and the cry
of the soul seem one, forsake it harshly
and rudely ? What have we in common

xviii GITANJALI

with St. Bernard covering his eyes that
they may not dwell upon the beauty of
the lakes of Switzerland, or with the
violent rhetoric of the Book of Revela-
tion? We would, if we might, find,
as in this book, words full of courtesy.
" I have got my leave. Bid me fare-
well, my brothers 1 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."
And it is our own mood, when it is
furthest from A Kempis or John of the
Cross, that cries, " And because I love
this life, I know I shall love death
as well." Yet it is not only in our
thoughts of the parting that this book

INTRODUCTION xix

fathoms all. We had not known that
we loved God, hardly it may be that
we believed in Him ; yet looking back-
ward upon our life we discover, in our
exploration of the pathways of woods,
in our delight in the lonely places of
hills, in that mysterious claim that we
have made, unavailingly, on the women
that we have loved, the emotion
that created this insidious sweetness.
"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 fleet-
ing moment." This is no longer the
sanctity of the cell and of the scourge ;
being but a lifting up, as it were, into a
greater intensity of the mood of the
painter, painting the dust and the sun-
light, and we go for a like voice to St.
Francis and to William Blake who
have seemed so alien in our violent
history.

xx GITANJALI

III

We write long books where no
page perhaps has any quality to make
writing a pleasure, being confident in
some general design, just as we fight
and make money and fill our heads
with politics — all dull things in the
doing — while Mr. Tagore, like the
Indian civilization itself, has been con-
tent to discover the soul and surrender
himself to its spontaneity. He often
seems to contrast his life with that of
those who have lived more after our
fashion, and have more seeming weight
in the world, and always humbly as
though he were only sure his way is
best for him : " Men going home glance
at me and smile and fill me with
shame. I sit like a beggar maid, draw-
ing my skirt over my face, and when
they ask me, what it is I want, I drop

INTRODUCTION xxi

my eyes and answer them not." At
another time, remembering how his life
had once a different shape, he will say,
"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 inconse-
quence." 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. At times I wonder if he has it
from the literature of Bengal or from
religion, and at other times, remember-
ing the birds alighting on his brother's
hands, I find pleasure in thinking it
hereditary, a mystery that was growing
through the centuries like the courtesy

xxii GITANJALI

of a Tristan or a Pelanore. Indeed,
when he is speaking of children, so
much a part of himself this quality
seems, one is not certain that he is not
also speaking of the saints, " 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 sea-
shore 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."

W. B. YEATS.

September 1912.

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.

B

GITANJALI

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 spread-
ing wing of my song thy feet which I
could never aspire to reach.

Drunk with the joy of singing I for-
get myself and call thee friend who art
my lord.

GITANJALI

I KNOW not how thou singest, my
master ! I ever listen in silent amaze-
ment.

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 end-
less meshes of thy music, my master !

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

4 GITANJALI

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.

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.

To-day the summer has come at my
window with its sighs and murmurs;

GITANJALI 5

and the bees are plying their minstrelsy
at the court of the flowering grove.

Now it is time to sit quiet, 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.

It may not find a place in thy gar-
land, 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.

GITANJALI

*

MY song has put off her adornments.
She has no pride of dress and decora-
tion. 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

GITANJALI 7

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 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.

9

O FOOL, to try to carry thyself upon
thy own shoulders ! O beggar, to come
to 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.

8 GITANJALI

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

GITANJALI 9

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 path-
maker 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 deliver-
ance 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.

10 G1TANJALI

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 leav-
ing 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 1 "

GITANJALI 11

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 spread-
ing 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.

12 GITANJALI

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 overmucli 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 refus-
ing me ever and anon, saving me from
perils of weak, uncertain desire.

GITANJALI 13

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.

14, GITANJALI

New, 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 heed-
less ; 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.

GITANJALI 15

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 wail-
ing 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

16 GITANJALI

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

GITANJALI 17

that it 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 ?

18 GITANJALI

22

IN the deep shadows of the rainy July,
with secret steps, thou walkest, silent
as night, eluding all watchers.

To-day 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 to-night. Ever and

GITANJALI 19

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 droop-
ing lotus at dusk.

From the traveller, whose sack of
provisions is empty before the voyage
is ended, whose garment is torn and
dust-laden, whose strength is exhausted,

20 GITANJALI

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.

GITANJALI 21

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.

22 GITANJALI

Light, oh where is the light I Kindle
it with the burning fire of desire 1 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,

GITANJALI 23

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 1 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 ?

24 GITANJALI

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 bed that
was for my lord, and on waking up I
found I was a prisoner in my own
treasure-house."

GITANJALI 25

"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.

26 GITANJALI

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 of 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.

GITANJALI 27

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 V

\VHERE 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 ;

28 GITANJALI

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

V 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.

GITANJALI 29

/

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.

30 GITANJALI

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 rebel-
lion 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,

GITANJALI 31

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 thin-
nest 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

32 GITANJALI

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
/Tmpty.

^J/ 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

GITANJALI 33

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

34 GITANJALI

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 ?

GITANJALI 35

43

THE day was when I did not keep my-
self 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 to-day 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.

36 GITANJALI

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 un-
known 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.

GITANJALI 37

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

38 GITANJALI

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 why to-day 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 sound of his steps does not
wake me, do not try to rouse me, I

GITANJALI 39

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 undis-
turbed 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

40 GITANJALI

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
ah* 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

GITANJALI 41

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 !

42 GITANJALI

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 !

GITANJALI 43

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 earnest
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
tome?"

Ah, what a kingly jest was it to open
thy palm to a beggar to beg 1 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 grain of gold
among the poor heap. I bitterly wept
and wished that I had had the heart to
give thee my all.

44 GITANJALI

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 1 " 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!"

GITANJAL1 45

The night was still dark when the
drum sounded. The voice came " Wake
up 1 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 ? Some one has said,
x " 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

46 GITANJALI

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 spreads itself upon thy bed. The
morning bird twitters and asks,
" Woman, what hast thou got ? " No,

GITANJALI 47

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
where to hide it. I am ashamed to
wear it, frail as I am, and it hurts me
when I 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

48 GITANJALI

hast given me thy sword for adornment.
No more doll's decorations for me I

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 earthly 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 to think of.

GITANJALI 49

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 earnest.
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

50 GITANJALI

babla flowers came from the bend of
the road.

I stood speechless 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

G1TANJALI 51

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

52 GITANJALI

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.

GITANJALI 53

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

54 GITANJALI

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

GITANJALI 55

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 get wrecked in the
trackless water, death is abroad and
children play. On the seashore of end-
less worlds is the great meeting of
children.

56 GITANJALI

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

GITANJALI 57

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 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.

58 GITANJALI

When I kiss your face to make you
smile, my darling, I surely understand
what the pleasure is that streams from
the sky in morning light, and what
delight 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

GITANJALI 59

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.

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.

60 GITANJALI

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 lone-
some,— 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
asked 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.

GITANJALI 61

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.

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.

62 GITANJALI

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 it

GITANJALI 63

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

64 GITANJALI

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 ever changing.

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

GITANJALI 65

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 abound-

F

66 GITANJALI

ing 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-separa-
tion 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.

GITANJALI 67

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

68 GITANJALI

name, in many a guise, in many a
rapture of joy and of sorrow.

73

DELIVERANCE is not for me in renuncia-
tion. 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.

GITANJALI 69

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 un-
diminished.

The river has its everyday work to
do and hastens through fields and

70 GITANJALI

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,

GITANJALI 71

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 ?

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

72 GITANJALI

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 perfec-
tion I 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 un-
ceasing for her, and the cry goes on

GITANJALI 73

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 ! " A^

79

IF it is not my portion to meet thee in
this my 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

74 GITANJALI

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 for 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

GITANJALI 75

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.

76 GITANJALI

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 our
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 be shut ; but I find
that yet there is time.

GITANJALI 77

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 ~»vithhold
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 night from star to
star and becomes lyric among rustling
leaves in rainy darkness of July.

78 GITANJALI

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.

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

GITANJALI 79

on the day they marched back again to
their master's hall.

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 with folded hands,
and with tears. 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.

80 GITANJALI

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 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 full-
ness. Let me for once feel that lost
sweet touch in the allness of the uni-
verse.

GITANJALI 81

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

G

82 GITANJALI

the holy stream of oblivion when their
time is come.

Only the deity of the ruined temple
remains unworshipped in deathless
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

GITANJALT 83

of the empty days to draw my heart on
to him ; and I know not why is this
sudden call to what useless incon-
sequence !

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. vX

91

O THOU the last fulfilment of life, Death,
my death, come and whisper to me ! .
Day after day have I kept watch for

84 GITANJALI

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.

GITANJALI 85

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 1 1 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

86 GITANJALI

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 my 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.

GITANJALI 87

95

X

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 in-
scrutable 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.

88 GITANJALI

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

GITANJALI 89

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 ex-
ceeding 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

90 GITANJALI

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.

GITAN.TALI 91

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
deathless.

Into the audience hall by the fathom •
less 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 for ever,
and, when it has sobbed out its last

92 GITANJALI

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 they brought me in the
evening at the end of my journey ?

GITANJALI 93

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.

94 GITANJALI

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 salu-
tation 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.

THESE translations are of poems
contained in three books — Naivedya,
Kheya, and Citanjali — to be had at
the Indian Publishing House, 22
Cormvallis Street, Calcutta ; and of
a few poems which have appeared
only in periodicals.

95

INDEX OF FIRST WORDS

No.

Art thou abroad on this stormy night . . 23
At this time of my parting, wish me good

luck 94

Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with stars . 53
By all means they try to hold me secure . 32

Clouds heap upon clouds . . . .18

Day after day, O lord of my life, shall I

stand 76

Death, thy servant, is at my door . . 86

Deity of the ruined temple ! The broken

strings . . . . . . 88 .

Deliverance is not for me in renunciation . 73 V

Early in the day it was whispered . . 42
Ever in my life have I sought thee . . 101

Have you not heard his silent steps ? . .45
He came and sat by my side ... 26
He it is, the innermost one ... 72
He whom I enclose with my name is weeping 29

Here is thy footstool 10

97 H

98 GITANJALI

No.

am here to sing thee songs . . .15
am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn . 80
am only waiting for love . . . .17

ask for a moment's indulgence ... 5
asked nothing from thee ; I uttered not . 54
'. boasted among men that I had known you 102
came out alone on my way ... 30
dive down into the depth of the ocean . 100
had gone a-begging from door to door . 50
have got my leave. Bid me farewell . 93
have had my invitation . . . .16

know not from what distant time . . 46
know not how thou singest, my master ! . 3
know that the day will come when my

sight . . * . . .92

I know thee as my God and stand apart . 77
I must launch out my boat . . . .21

I thought I should ask of thee — but I dared

not— . . . . . . .52

I thought that my voyage had come to its

end '. . ... . . 37

I was not aware of the moment . . 95 N/

I will deck thee with trophies ... 98
If it is not my portion to meet thee . . 79
If the day is done, if birds sing no more . 24
If thou speakest not I will fill my heart . 19
In desperate hope I go and search for her . 87
In one salutation to thee, my God . .103
In the deep shadows of the rainy July . 22
In the night of weariness let me give myself /

up .... . . . 25 V

INDEX OF FIRST WORDS 99

No.

Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness 70
It is the pang of separation ... 84

Languor is upon your heart . . .55
Leave this chanting and singing . . .11 \s
Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last

song 58

Let only that little be left of me . . 34
Life of my life, I shall ever try . . . 4
Light, my light, the world-filling light . 57
Light, oh where is the light ? . . .27

Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls . 83
My desires are many and my cry is pitiful . 14
My song has put off her adornments . . 7

No more noisy, loud words from me . . 89

O fool, to try to carry thyself . . . 9

O Thou the last fulfilment of life 91 ,

Obstinate are the trammels . . . 28 *

On many an idle day have I grieved . . 81
On the day when death will knock at thy

door 90

On the day when the lotus bloomed . . 20
On the seashore of endless worlds children

meet 60

On the slope of the desolate river among tall

grasses 64

Pluck this little flower .... 6
Prisoner, tell me, who was it . . .31

She who ever had remained in the depth . 66

100 GITANJALI

No.

That I should make much of myself . . 71

That I want thee, only thee ... 38

The child who is decked with prince's robes 8
The day is no more, the shadow is upon the

earth 74

The day was when I did not keep myself . 43
The morning sea of silence broke into

ripples 48

The night darkened. Our day's works had

been done 51

The night is nearly spent waiting for him . 47

The rain has held back for days and days . 40
The same stream of life that runs through

my veins . . ' . . . .69

The sleep that flits on baby's eyes . . 6l

The song that I came to sing remains unsung 1 3

The time that my journey takes is long . 12

This is my delight, thus to wait and watch . 44

This is my prayer to thee, my lord . . 36

Thou art the sky and thou art the nest . 67

Thou hast made me endless ... 1
Thou hast made me known to friends whom

I knew not ..,',/. . . .63

Thus it is that thy joy in me is so full . 56

Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs . 75

Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine 68

Time is endless in thy hands, my lord . 82

What divine drink wouldst thou have, my God 65
When I bring to you coloured toys, my

child . 62

INDEX OF FIRST WORDS 101

No.

When I give up the helm I know that the

time has come 99

When I go from hence let this be my parting

word 96 V

When it was day they came into my house 33
When my play was with thee I never

questioned . . . , . .97
When the creation was new and all the stars

shone 78

When the heart is hard and parched up . 39

When the warriors came out first . . 85

When thou commandest me to sing . . 2

Where dost thou stand behind them all . 41

Where the mind is without fear . , • 35

Yes, I know, this is nothing but thy love . 59
You came down from your throne . • 49

THE END

Printed by R. & R. CI.ARK, LIMITED, Etiinbvrfk.

BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE

THE GARDENER

LYRICS OF LOVE AND LIFE

TRANSLATED BY THE AUTHOR

With Portrait. Crown 8vo. 45. 6d. net.

DAILY MAIL.— "Flowers as fresh as sunrise. . . .
One cannot tell what they have lost in the translation, but as
they stand they are of extreme beauty. . . . They are simple,
exalted, fragrant- -episodes and incidents of every day trans-
posed to faery."

DAILY N£WS.--"The verses in this book are far finer
and more genuine than even the best in Gitanjali"

OBSERVER.— "Mr. Tagore does not in his poetry set
the themes of life to great music ; he speaks them in a soft
voice to the heart with all the simplicity and directness in his
power. He takes the little intimate things which comprise life
and fashions them into pearls which reflect the colour of the
sky, the mightiness of love and life. He has vision ; he has
intelligence :n love, the last test of a man's nature."

PALL MALL GAZETTE.— "No one can read it
without a sense of the original music in his ear, and we have a
very genuine curiosity to hear Mr. Tagore recite the authentic
Bengali versions which he has rendered himself so delicately in
this fresh and truly poetic book."

MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON.

BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE
THE CRESCENT MOON

CHILD-POEMS

Translated by the Author from the Original Bengali.

With 8 Illustrations in Colour.

Pott 4to. 43. 6d net

GLOBE. — "In The Crescent Moon Rabindranath Tagore
offers a revelation more profound and more subtle than that
in the Gitanjali. He opens to us the child-mind. . . . His
revelation of the child-mind is richer, more complete, more con-
vincing than any of which we have had previous knowledge. . . .
The poems depict every phase of the child's imagination. Their
richness and beauty will be sufficiently obvious from the exam pies
we have given, and these qualities are even more apparent when
the poet turns from childhood itself to gaze upon the mother-
hood which enfolds it."

OBSER VER.—' ' Every one who knows— and who does not ?
— the sensitive delicacy and strength of Mr. Tagore's mind and
work will realise how delightful must be his poems about chil-
dren. They are. They have a singular fragrance and beauty
of their own."

SADHANA:
THE REALISATION OF LIFE

LECTURES
Extra Crown 8vo. 53. net.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MAHARSHI
DEVENDRANATH TAGORE

[FATHER OF RABINDRANATH TAGORE]

With Introduction by EVELYN UNDERBILL.

8vo. {Shortly.

MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON.

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Tagore, (Sir) Rabindranath
6039 Gitanjali

A2G6
1913
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