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Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore

Poems on Time

The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.
 
Time is a wealth of change,
but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.
 
Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time
like dew on the tip of a leaf.

#Indians #IndianWriters #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury

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Love's Messenger, by Marie Spartali Stillman
The Gardener: 24

Do not keep to yourself the secret… Say it to me, only to me, in secre… You who smile so gently, softly wh… The night is deep, the house is si… Speak to me through hesitating tea…
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Defamation

Whey are those tears in your eyes,… How horrid of them to be always sc… You have stained your fingers and… is that why they call you dirty? O, fie! Would they dare to call t…
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Pandora, by William Bouguereau
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Come as you are, tarry not over yo… If your braiding has come loose, i… Come as you are, tarry not over yo… Come with quick steps over the gra… If your feet are pale with the dew…
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Face to Face

Day after day, O lord of my life, shall I stand before thee face to… With folded hands, O lord of all… shall I stand before thee face to… Under thy great sky in solitude an…
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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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Deer Running in the Snow, by Gustave Courbet
The Gardener: 15

I run as a musk-deer runs in the s… The night is the night of mid-May… I lose my way and I wander, I see… From my heart comes out and dances… The gleaming vision flits on.
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The water carrier, by Eugene de Blaas
The Gardener: 18

WHEN the two sisters go to fetch… They must be aware of somebody who… The two sisters whisper to each ot… They must have guessed the secret… Their pitchers lurch suddenly, and…
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Lover's Gifts LII: Tired of Waiting

Tired of waiting, you burst your b… the winter had gone. Glimpses of t… wayside watch, and you rushed out… jasmines, troops of riotous roses. You were the first to march to the…
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Sympathy

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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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The Sun of the First Day

The sun of the first day Put the question To the new manifestation of life— Who are you? There was no answer.
The Gardener: 7

O mother, the young Prince is to… attend to my work this morning? Show me how to braid up my hair; t… Why do you look at me amazed, moth… I know well he will not glance up…
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When and Why

When I bring you coloured toys, m… is such a play of colours on cloud… painted in tints—when I give colou… When I sing to make you dance, I… in leaves, and why waves send thei…
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Lord of my Life

Thou who art the innermost Spirit… art thou pleased, Lord of my Life… For I give to thee my cup filled… the pain and delight that the crus… grapes of my heart had surrendered…
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VIII Lest I should know you too easily… You blind me with flashes of laugh… I know, I know your art; You never say the word you would.
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