Page 47

When I give up the helm I know that the time has come for thee to

take it.  What there is to do will be instantly done.  Vain is

this struggle.

Then take away your hands and silently put up with your defeat,

my heart, and think it your good fortune to sit perfectly still

where you are placed.

These my lamps are blown out at every little puff of wind, and

trying to light them I forget all else again and again.

But I shall be wise this time and wait in the dark, spreading my

mat on the floor; and whenever it is thy pleasure, my lord, come

silently and take thy seat here.

I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, hoping to gain

the perfect pearl of the formless.

No more sailing from harbour to harbour with this my weather-

beaten boat.  The days are long passed when my sport was to be

tossed on waves.

And now I am eager to die into the deathless.

Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss where swells up

the music of toneless strings I shall take this harp of my life.

I shall tune it to the notes of forever, and when it has sobbed

out its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at the feet of

the silent.

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From: GITANJALI – ‘Song Offerings’



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