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Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore

The Gardener: Preface

To W. B. Yeats

Most of the lyrics of love and life, the translations of which from Bengali are published in this book, were written much earlier than the series of religious poems contained in the book named Gitanjali. The translations are not always literal—the originals being sometimes abridged and sometimes paraphrased.

               Rabindranath Tagore.

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Wheatfields Under Thunderclouds, by Vincent van Gogh
The Gardener: 30

You are the evening cloud floating… I paint you and fashion you ever w… You are my own, my own, Dweller i… Your feet are rosy-red with the gl… Your lips are bitter-sweet with th…
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Poems on Beauty

Beauty is truth’s smile when she beholds her own face in a… Beauty is in the ideal of perfect… which is in the universal being; truth the perfect comprehension of…
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Sleep-Stealer

Who stole sleep from baby’s eyes?… Clasping her pitcher to her waist… from the village near by. It was noon. The children’s playt… the pond were silent.
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Only Thee

That I want thee, only thee——let… All desires that distract me, day… are false and empty to the core. As the night keeps hidden in its g… even thus in the depth of my uncon…
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Authorship

You say that father write a lot of… understand. He was reading to you all the even… make out what he meant? What nice stores, mother, you can…
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The Gardener: 81

Why do you whisper so faintly in m… When the flowers droop in the even… Is this how you must woo and win m… Will there be no proud ceremony fo… Will you not tie up with a wreath…
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Let Me Not Forget

If it is not my portion to meet th… then let me ever feel that I have… ——let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sor… and in my wakeful hours.
Death

O thou the last fulfilment of life… Death, my death, come and whisper… Day after day I have kept watch f… for thee have I borne the joys and… All that I am, that I have, that…
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The End

It is time for me to go, mother;… When in the paling darkness of the… your arms for your baby in the bed… here!”—mother, I am going. I shall become a delicate draught…
 1
The Gardener: 80

With a glance of your eyes you cou… But for their praises you have no… You could humble at your feet the… But it is your loved ones, unknown… The perfection of your arms would…
The Concert Singer, by Thomas Eakins
The Gardener: 29

Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang. The night is dark. The stars are lost in clouds. The wind is sighing through the leaves. I will let loose my hair. My blue cloa...
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Superior

Mother, your baby is silly! She i… She does not know the difference b… streets and the stars. When we play at eating with pebble… food, and tries to put them into h…
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The Gardener: 52

Why did the lamp go out? I shaded it with my cloak to save… Why did the flower fade? I pressed it to my heart with anxi… Why did the stream dry up?
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O you mad, you superbly drunk! If you kick open your doors and pl… If you empty your bag in a night,… If you walk in curious paths and p… Reck not rhyme or reason;
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Keep Me Fully Glad

Keep me fully glad with nothing. Only take my hand in your hand. In the gloom of the deepening night take up my heart and play with it as you list. Bind me close to you with nothing. ...
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