Rabindranath Tagore

“ Do not close up your heart." "Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them." "The heart is only for giving away with a tear and a song, my love." "Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them." "Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your eyes." "Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them." "The lotus blooms in the sight of the sun, and loses all that it has. It would not remain in bud in the eternal winter mist." ”

“ For very shame I could not say, 'She is I, young traveler, she is I.'
It was dusk and the lamp was not lit.
I was listlessly braiding my hair.
The young traveler came on his chariot in the glow of the setting sun.
His horses were foaming at the mouth, and there was dust on his garment.
He alighted at my door and asked in a tired voice, 'Where is she?'
For very shame I could not say, 'She is I, weary traveler, she is I.'
It is an April night. The lamp is burning in my room.
The breeze of the south comes gently. The noisy parrot sleeps in its cage. ”

“ But it is a heart, my beloved. Where are its shores and its bottom? You know not the limits of this kingdom, still you are its queen. If it were only a moment of pleasure it would flower in an easy smile, and you could see it and read it in a moment. If it were merely a pain it would melt in limpid tears, reflecting its inmost secret without a word. But it is love, my beloved. Its pleasure and pain are boundless, and endless its wants and wealth. It is as near to you as your life, but you can never wholly know it. 29 Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang. The night is dark. ”

“ Traveller, we are helpless to keep you. We have only our tears. What quenchless fire glows in your eyes? What restless fever runs in your blood? What call from the dark urges you? What awful incantation have you read among the stars in the sky, that with a sealed secret message the night entered your heart, silent and strange? If you do not care for merry meetings, if you must have peace, weary heart, we shall put our lamps out and silence our harps. We shall sit still in the dark in the rustle of leaves, and the tired moon will shed pale rays on your window. ”

“ When your words are ended, we will sit still and silent. Only the trees will whisper in the dark. The night will pale. The day will dawn. We shall look at each other's eyes and go on our different paths. Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang. 30 You are the evening cloud floating in the sky of my dreams. I paint you and fashion you ever with my love longings. You are my own, my own, Dweller in my endless dreams! Your feet are rosy-red with the glow of my heart's desire, Gleaner of my sunset songs! Your lips are bitter-sweet with the taste of my wine of pain. ”

“ The wandering clouds have gathered at the edge of the sky on yonder rise of the land. They linger and look at your face and smile in mere idle sport. Fill your pitcher and come home. 24 Do not keep to yourself the secret of your heart, my friend! Say it to me, only to me, in secret. You who smile so gently, softly whisper, my heart will hear it, not my ears. The night is deep, the house is silent, the birds' nests are shrouded with sleep. Speak to me through hesitating tears, through faltering smiles, through sweet shame and pain, the secret of your heart! ”

“ He sits on the dust under the tree. Spread there a seat with flowers and leaves, my friend. His eyes are sad, and they bring sadness to my heart. He does not speak what he has in mind; he only comes and goes away. 21 Why did he choose to come to my door, the wandering youth, when the day dawned? As I come in and out I pass by him every time, and my eyes are caught by his face. I know not if I should speak to him or keep silent. Why did he choose to come to my door? The cloudy nights in July are dark; the sky is soft blue in the autumn; the spring days are restless with the south wind. ”

“ Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?" "Alas," cries the cage bird, "I should not know where to sit perched in the sky." The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands." The cage bird says, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned." The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be taught." The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands." Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing. Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other. ”

“ No, my friends, I shall never leave my hearth and home, and retire into the forest solitude, if rings no merry laughter in its echoing shade and if the end of no saffron mantle flutters in the wind; if its silence is not deepened by soft whispers. I shall never be an ascetic. 44 Reverend sir, forgive this pair of sinners. Spring winds to-day are blowing in wild eddies, driving dust and dead leaves away, and with them your lessons are all lost. Do not say, father, that life is a vanity. For we have made truce with death for once, and only for a few fragrant hours we two have been made immortal. ”

“ Somewhere there is an end to everything, and the loneness of the dark is one's own. Must your voice cut through it and smite me? Has the evening no music of sleep at your gate? Do the silent-winged stars never climb the sky above your pitiless tower? Do the flowers never drop on the dust in soft death in your garden? Must you call me, you unquiet one? Then let the sad eyes of love vainly watch and weep. Let the lamp burn in the lonely house. Let the ferry-boat take the weary labourers to their home. I leave behind my dreams and I hasten to your call. ”

“ Let your laughter be but a meaningless mirth like twinkles of light on the ripples. Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf. Strike in chords from your harp fitful momentary rhythms. 46 You left me and went on your way. I thought I should mourn for you and set your solitary image in my heart wrought in a golden song. But ah, my evil fortune, time is short. Youth wanes year after year; the spring days are fugitive; the frail flowers die for nothing, and the wise man warns me that life is but a dew-drop on the lotus leaf. ”

“ We do not stray out of all words into the ever silent; we do not raise our hands to the void for things beyond hope. It is enough what we give and we get. We have not crushed the joy to the utmost to wring from it the wine of pain. This love between you and me is simple as a song. 17 The yellow bird sings in their tree and makes my heart dance with gladness. We both live in the same village, and that is our one piece of joy. ”

“ The shadow of the coming rain is on the sands, and the clouds hang low upon the blue lines of the trees like the heavy hair above your eyebrows. I know well the rhythm of your steps, they are beating in my heart. Come, O come to my lake, if you must fill your pitcher. If you would be idle and sit listless and let your pitcher float on the water, come, O come to my lake. The grassy slope is green, and the wild flowers beyond number. Your thoughts will stray out of your dark eyes like birds from their nests. Your veil will drop to your feet. ”

“ In the light of the curious day it looks pitifully dark. Ah, you broke through the cover of my heart and dragged my trembling love into the open place, destroying for ever the shady corner where it hid its nest. The other women are the same as ever. No one has peeped into their inmost being, and they themselves know not their own secret. Lightly they smile, and weep, chatter, and work. Daily they go to the temple, light their lamps, and fetch water from the river. I hoped my love would be saved from the shivering shame of the shelterless, but you turn your face away. ”

“ Raise my veil and look at my face proudly, O Death, my Death! 82 We are to play the game of death to-night, my bride and I. The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious, and the waves are raving at sea. We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come out, my bride and I. We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind. My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and clings to my breast. Long have I served her tenderly. I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes. ”

“ The anxious cattle run to their stalls in the village. Do you see the clouds wrapping the sky? In vain you light your toilet lamp—it flickers and goes out in the wind. Who can know that your eyelids have not been touched with lamp- black? For your eyes are darker than rain-clouds. In vain you light your toilet lamp—it goes out. Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet. If the wreath is not woven, who cares; if the wrist-chain has not been linked, let it be. The sky is overcast with clouds—it is late. ”

“ The night I had imprisoned had spread its wings and vanished. 73 Infinite wealth is not yours, my patient and dusky mother dust! You toil to fill the mouths of your children, but food is scarce. The gift of gladness that you have for us is never perfect. The toys that you make for your children are fragile. You cannot satisfy all our hungry hopes, but should I desert you for that? Your smile which is shadowed with pain is sweet to my eyes. Your love which knows not fulfilment is dear to my heart. ”

“ From your breast you have fed us with life but not immortality, that is why your eyes are ever wakeful. For ages you are working with colour and song, yet your heaven is not built, but only its sad suggestion. Over your creations of beauty there is the mist of tears. I will pour my songs into your mute heart, and my love into your love. I will worship you with labour. I have seen your tender face and I love your mournful dust, Mother Earth. ”

“ Thus my songs share their seats in the heart of the world with the music of the clouds and forests. But, you man of riches, your wealth has no part in the simple grandeur of the sun's glad gold and the mellow gleam of the musing moon. The blessing of all-embracing sky is not shed upon it. And when death appears, it pales and withers and crumbles into dust. ”

“ They all have come home with their burdens; the moon peeps from above the village trees. The echoes of the voices calling for the ferry run across the dark water to the distant swamp where wild ducks sleep. Where do you hurry with your basket when the marketing is over? Sleep has laid her fingers upon the eyes of the earth. The nests of the crows have become silent, and the murmurs of the bamboo leaves are silent. The labourers home from their fields spread their mats in the courtyards. ”

“ The bees forget to sip their honey; drunken with light they foolishly hover and hum. The ducks in the islands of the river clamour in joy for mere nothing. Let none go back home, brothers, this morning, let none go to work. Let us take the blue sky by storm and plunder space as we run. Laughter floats in the air like foam on the flood. Brothers, let us squander our morning in futile songs. 85 Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence? I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds. ”

“ I hurt you, for fear you should never know any pain.
I long to sit silent by you; but I dare not lest my heart come out at my lips.
That is why I prattle and chatter lightly and hide my heart behind words.
I rudely handle my pain, for fear you should do so.
I long to go away from your side; but I dare not, for fear my cowardice should become known to you.
That is why I hold my head high and carelessly come into your presence.
Constant thrusts from your eyes keep my pain fresh for ever. ”

“ Then, come, my rainy nights with pattering feet; smile, my golden autumn; come, careless April, scattering your kisses abroad. You come, and you, and you also! My loves, you know we are mortals. Is it wise to break one's heart for the one who takes her heart away? For time is short. It is sweet to sit in a corner to muse and write in rhymes that you are all my world. It is heroic to hug one's sorrow and determine not to be consoled. ”

“ I know not why they leave their work and linger near my hedge.
The flowers in their hair are pale and faded; the notes are languid in their flutes.
Turn them away I cannot. I call them and say, "The shade is cool under my trees. Come, friends."
At night the crickets chirp in the woods.
Who is it that comes slowly to my door and gently knocks?
I vaguely see the face, not a word is spoken, the stillness of the sky is all around.
Turn away my silent guest I cannot. I look at the face through the dark, and hours of dreams pass by. ”

“ It is my own heart that beats wildly—I do not know how to quiet it. When my love comes and sits by my side, when my body trembles and my eyelids droop, the night darkens, the wind blows out the lamp, and the clouds draw veils over the stars. It is the jewel at my own breast that shines and gives light. ”

“ If friendly people came and flocked around us, we should humbly bow to them and say, This extravagant good fortune is an embarrassment to us. Room is scarce in the infinite sky where we dwell. For in the springtime flowers come in crowds, and the busy wings of bees jostle each other. Our little heaven, where dwell only we two immortals, is too absurdly narrow. 45 To the guests that must go bid God's speed and brush away all traces of their steps. Take to your bosom with a smile what is easy and simple and near. To-day is the festival of phantoms that know not when they die. ”

“ I dragged up from the dark abyss things of strange aspect and strange beauty—some shone like a smile, some glistened like tears, and some were flushed like the cheeks of a bride.
When with the day's burden I went home, my love was sitting in the garden idly tearing the leaves of a flower. ”