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Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore

The Gardener: 48

Free me from the bonds of your sweetness, my love!  No more of this wine of kisses.
This mist of heavy incense stifles my heart.
Open the doors, make room for the morning light.
I am lost in you, wrapped in the folds of your caresses.
Free me from your spells, and give me back the manhood to offer you my freed heart.

#IndianWriters #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury

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Autres oeuvres par Rabindranath Tagore...
The Home

I paced alone on the road across t… hiding its last gold like a miser. The daylight sank deeper and deepe… widowed land, whose harvest had be… Suddenly a boy’s shrill voice rose…
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The Land of the Exile

Mother, the light has grown grey i… the time is. There is no fun in my play, so I… Saturday, our holiday. Leave off your work, mother; sit h…
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Fruit-gathering LV

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…
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The Gardener 38

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…
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The Gardener: 84

Over the green and yellow rice-fie… The bees forget to sip their honey… The ducks in the islands of the ri… Let none go back home, brothers, t… Let us take the blue sky by storm…
 1
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…
 1
Lotus

On the day when the lotus bloomed,… and I knew it not. My basket was… Only now and again a sadness fell… dream and felt a sweet trace of a… That vague sweetness made my heart…
 2
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: 38

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…
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The Gardener: 80

With a glance of your eyes you cou… But for their praises you have no… You could humble at your feet the… But it is your loved ones, unknown… The perfection of your arms would…
Vocation

When the gong sounds ten in the mo… lane. Every day I meet the hawker cryin… bangles!” There is nothing to hurry him on,…
Self-portrait, by Gian Lorenzo Bernini
The Gardener: 25

“Come to us, youth, tell us truly… “I know not what wine of wild popp… “Ah, shame!” “Well, some are wise and some fool… “Youth, why do you stand so still…
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Brink of Eternity

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…
 4
Gitanjali

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. This little flute of a reed thou hast carried ove...
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Authorship

You say that father write a lot of… understand. He was reading to you all the even… make out what he meant? What nice stores, mother, you can…
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