I long to go over there to the further b… Where those boats are tied to the bamboo… Where men cross over in their boats in t… ploughs on their shoulders to till their… Where the cowherds make their lowing cat…

He whom I enclose with my name is weepi… I am ever busy building this wall all ar… the sky day by day I lose sight of my tr… I take pride in this great wall, and I… lest a least hole should be left in this…

My heart, the bird of the wilderness, ha… They are the cradle of the morning, they… My songs are lost in their depths. Let me but soar in that sky, in its lone… Let me but cleave its clouds and spread…

Let only that little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all. Let only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel thee on every side, and come to thee in everything,

The boat of the boatman Madhu is moored… It is uselessly laden with jute, and has… for ever so long. If he would only lend me his boat, I sh… hundred oars, and hoist sails, five or s…

Thou who art the innermost Spirit of my… art thou pleased, Lord of my Life? For I give to thee my cup filled with a… the pain and delight that the crushed grapes of my heart had surrendered,

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 s...

I wonder if I know him In whose speech is my voice, In whose movement is my being, Whose skill is in my lines, Whose melody is in my songs

The butterfly counts not months but mome… and has time enough. Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mer… Let your life lightly dance on the edges…

Mother, the folk who live up in the clou… “We play from the time we wake till the… We play with the golden dawn, we play wi… I ask, “But how am I to get up to you?” They answer, “Come to the edge of the e…

Though the evening comes with slow steps… Though your companions have gone to thei… Though fear broods in the dark and the f… Yet, bird, O my bird, listen to me, do… That is not the gloom of the leaves of t…

Pity, in place of love, That pettiest of gifts, Is but a sugar—coating over neglect. Any passerby can make a gift of it To a street beggar,

Let your work be, bride. Listen, the g… Do you hear, he is gently shaking the ch… See that your anklets make no loud noise… Let your work be, bride, the guest has c… No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride, d…