#IndianWriters #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
I love you, beloved. Forgive me… Like a bird losing its way I am c… When my heart was shaken it lost i… If you cannot love me, beloved, fo… Do not look askance at me from afa…
She who ever had remained in the d… in the twilight of gleams and of g… she who never opened her veils in… will be my last gift to thee, my G… Words have wooed yet failed to win…
When the creation was new and all… splendor, the gods held their asse… `Oh, the picture of perfection! th… But one cried of a sudden ——`It seems that somewhere there i…
I often wonder where lie hidden th… Through what primal paradise in a… Those marks of their constant trea… Yet suddenly in some wordless musi… It seems that the two friends meet…
41 THE trees, like the longings of the earth, stand a—tiptoe to peep at the heav… 42
The workman and his wife from the west country are busy digging to make bricks for the kiln. Their little daughter goes to the landing-place by the river; there she has no end of scouri...
Mother, let us imagine we are trav… strange and dangerous country. You are riding in a palanquin and… red horse. It is evening and the sun goes dow…
STRAY birds of summer come to my… to sing and fly away. And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh…
I paced alone on the road across t… hiding its last gold like a miser. The daylight sank deeper and deepe… widowed land, whose harvest had be… Suddenly a boy’s shrill voice rose…
Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all. Let only that little be left of my… whereby I may feel thee on every s… and come to thee in everything,
Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamour of silenc… Man is immortal; therefore he must… For life is a creative idea; it can only find itself in changin…
At midnight the would-be ascetic a… “This is the time to give up my ho… God whispered, “I,” but the ears… With a baby asleep at her breast l… The man said, “Who are ye that ha…
“Ah, poet, the evening draws near; your hair is turning grey.” “Do you in your lonely musing hear the message of the hereafter?” “It is evening,” the poet said, “and I am listening beca...
Do not go, my love, without asking… I have watched all night, and now… I fear lest I lose you when I am… Do not go, my love, without asking… I start up and stretch my hands to…
Tulsidas, the poet, was wandering,… He found a woman sitting at the fe… She rose as she saw him, bowed to… “Why such hurry, my daughter?” ask… “For heaven I do not long,” said…