I was one among many women busy wi… Why did you single me out and brin… Love unexpressed in sacred. It s… Ah, you broke through the cover of… The other women are the same as ev…

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

Amidst the rush and roar of life,… Great Time sits enamoured at your… “Speak, speak to me, my love; spea… But your speech is shut up in ston…

Hands cling to hands and eyes ling… It is the moonlit night of March;… This love between you and me is si… Your veil of the saffron colour ma… The jasmine wreath that you wove m…

If thou speakest not I will fill… I will keep still and wait like th… and its head bent low with patienc… The morning will surely come, the… and thy voice pour down in golden…

Where the mind is without fear and… Where knowledge is free; Where the world has not been broke… domestic walls; Where words come out from the dept…

11 SOME unseen fingers, like idle b… are playing upon my heart the musi… 12 ‘WHAT language is thine, O sea?’

Imagine, mother, that you are to s… into strange lands. Imagine that my boat is ready at t… Now think well, mother, before you… you when I come back.

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…

Why do you put me to shame with a… I have not come as a beggar. Only for a passing hour I stood a… Why do you put me to shame with a… Not a rose did I gather from your…

“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...

In desperate hope I go and search… My house is small and what once ha… But infinite is thy mansion, my lo… I stand under the golden canopy of… I have come to the brink of eterni…

Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang. The night is dark. The stars are lost in clouds. The wind is sighing through the leaves. I will let loose my hair. My blue cloa...

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