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Rabindranath Tagore

Poems on Life

Life is given to us,
we earn it by giving it.
 
Let the dead have the immortality of fame,
but the living the immortality of love.
 
Life’s errors cry for the merciful beauty
that can modulate their isolation into a
harmony with the whole.
 
Life, like a child, laughs,
shaking its rattle of death as it runs.

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Piaciuto o affrontato da...
Bruno G.
Altre opere di Rabindranath Tagore...
Fool

O Fool, try to carry thyself upon… O beggar, to come beg at thy own d… Leave all thy burdens on his hands… and never look behind in regret. Thy desire at once puts out the li…
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She

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…
Silent Steps

Have you not heard his silent step… He comes, comes, ever comes. Every moment and every age, every day and every night he comes… Many a song have I sung in many a…
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The Gardener: 78

It was in May. The sultry noon s… When I heard from the riverside a… I shut my book and opened the wind… I saw a big buffalo with mud-stain… I smiled amused and felt a touch o…
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Poems on Man

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…
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The First Jasmines

Ah, these jasmines, these white ja… I seem to remember the first day w… these jasmines, these white jasmin… I have loved the sunlight, the sky… I have heard the liquid murmur of…
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The Gardener: 20

Day after day he comes and goes aw… Go, and give him a flower from my… If he asks who was it that sent it… He sits on the dust under the tree… Spread there a seat with flowers a…
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The Gardener: 54

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…
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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When and Why

When I bring you coloured toys, m… is such a play of colours on cloud… painted in tints—when I give colou… When I sing to make you dance, I… in leaves, and why waves send thei…
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The Gardener: 82

We are to play the game of death t… The night is black, the clouds in… We have left our bed of dreams, fl… We sit upon a swing, and the storm… My bride starts up with fear and d…
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The Boat

I must launch out my boat. The languid hours pass by on the shore——Alas for me! The spring has done its flowering… And now with the burden of faded f…
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(“I found a few old letters...”)

I found a few old letters of mine carefully hidden in thy box—a few small toys for thy memory to play with. With a timorous heart thou didst try to steal these trifles from the...
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Clouds and Waves

Mother, the folk who live up in th… “We play from the time we wake til… We play with the golden dawn, we p… I ask, “But how am I to get up to… They answer, “Come to the edge of…
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Lover's Gifts LII: Tired of Waiting

Tired of waiting, you burst your b… the winter had gone. Glimpses of t… wayside watch, and you rushed out… jasmines, troops of riotous roses. You were the first to march to the…
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