#IndianWriters #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Where do you hurry with your baske… They all have come home with their… The echoes of the voices calling f… Where do you hurry with your baske… Sleep has laid her fingers upon th…
If you would be busy and fill your… The water will cling round your fe… The shadow of the coming rain is o… I know well the rhythm of your ste… Come, O come to my lake, if you m…
There is room for you. You are al… My boat is crowded, it is heavily… away? Your young body is slim and… smile in the edge of your eyes, an… rain cloud.
II Keep me fully glad with nothing. Only take my hand in your hand. In the gloom of the deepening night...
I am like a remnant of a cloud of… uselessly roaming in the sky, O my… Thy touch has not yet melted my va… making me one with thy light, and thus I count months and years…
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.
When I go from hence let this be my parting word, that what I have seen is unsurpass… I have tasted of the hidden honey… that expands on the ocean of light…
Things throng and laugh loud in th… and whirl like children. Man’s min… thoughts long to be the playmates… Our dreams, drifting in the stream… arms to clutch the earth, —their e…
Are you a mere picture, and not as… this dust? They throb with the pul… immensely aloof in your stillness,… The day was when you walked with m… limbs singing of life. My world fo…
My love, once upon a time your poe… Alas, I was not careful, and it s… It broke up into scraps of songs a… All my cargo of the stories of old… You must make this loss good to me…
To the guests that must go bid Go… Take to your bosom with a smile wh… To-day is the festival of phantoms… Let your laughter be but a meaning… Let your life lightly dance on the…
The sun of the first day Put the question To the new manifestation of life— Who are you? There was no answer.
It is written in the book that Ma… noisy world, to go to the forest s… that the forest hermitage is only… birthplace of flowers and the haun… hooks are waiting there for the th…
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…
Ah, who was it coloured that littl… your sweet limbs with that little… You have come out in the morning t… tottering and tumbling as you run. But who was it coloured that littl…