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Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore

The Gardener: 59

O woman, you are not merely the handiwork of God, but also of men; these are ever endowing you with beauty from their hearts.
Poets are weaving for you a web with threads of golden imagery; painters are giving your form ever new immortality.
The sea gives its pearls, the mines their gold, the summer gardens their flowers to deck you, to cover you, to make you more precious.
The desire of men's hearts has shed its glory over your youth.
You are one half woman and one half dream.

#IndianWriters #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury

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Autres oeuvres par Rabindranath Tagore...
(“Keep me fully glad...”)

II Keep me fully glad with nothing. Only take my hand in your hand. In the gloom of the deepening night...
Ungrateful Sorrow

At dawn shey(1) departed My mind tried to console me — ' Everything is Maya(2)'. Angrily I replied: 'Here’s this sewing box on the tab…
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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…
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The night is black and the forest… a million people thread it in a mi… We have trysts to keep in the dark… or with whom– of that we are unawa… But we have this faith– that a lif…
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Tell me if this is all true, my lo… tell me if it is true. When the eyes of me flash their li… dark clouds in your breast make st… Is it then true
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The Gardener: 64

I spent my day on the scorching ho… Now, in the cool of the evening,… A grim ashath tree spreads its hun… Days have been when wayfarers came… They spread their mats in the cour…
The Gardener: 57

I plucked your flower, O world! I pressed it to my heart and the t… When the day waned and it darkened… More flowers will come to you with… But my time for flower-gathering i…
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Wreath of Flowers encircling a Niche, by Karel Batist
The Gardener: 37

Would you put your wreath of fresh… But you must know that the one wre… It is too late to ask my heart in… There was a time when my life was… Now it is squandered far and wide.
The Gardener: 77

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...
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Strong Mercy

Strong Mercy My desires are many and my cry is… but ever didst thou save me by har… and this strong mercy has been wro… Day by day thou art making me wort…
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Poems on Love

Love adorns itself; it seeks to prove inward joy by ou… Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom. Love is an endless mystery,
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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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The Quiet Pet, by John William Godward
The Gardener: 35

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. Lest I should not prize you, you…
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The Rainy Day

Sullen clouds are gathering fast o… forest. O child, do not go out! The palm trees in a row by the lak… against the dismal sky; the crows…
Endless Time

Time is endless in thy hands, my l… There is none to count thy minutes… Days and nights pass and ages bloo… Thou knowest how to wait. Thy centuries follow each other pe…
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