Over my thoughts and actions, my slumbers and dreams, she reigned
yet dwelled alone and apart.
Many a man knocked at my door and asked for her and turned away
There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face, and
she remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition.
Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well.
O thou beautiful, there in the nest is thy love that encloses the
soul with colours and sounds and odours.
There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand
bearing the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth.
And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted by
herds, through trackless paths, carrying cool draughts of peace
in her golden pitcher from the western ocean of rest.
But there, where spreads the infinite sky for the soul to take
her flight in, reigns the stainless white radiance. There is no
day nor night, nor form nor colour, and never, never a word.
Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretched
and stands at my door the livelong day to carry back to thy feet
clouds made of my tears and sighs and songs.
With fond delight thou wrappest about thy starry breast that
mantle of misty cloud, turning it into numberless shapes and
folds and colouring it with hues everchanging.
It is so light and so fleeting, tender and tearful and dark, that
is why thou lovest it, O thou spotless and serene. And that is
why it may cover thy awful white light with its pathetic shadows.
From: GITANJALI – ‘Song Offerings’
Tagore Short Poems
Tagore Stray Birds