Poetry - Rabindranath Tagore

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"The heart is only for giving away with a tear and a song, my love."

       "Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them."

       "Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies. But sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your eyes."

       "Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them."

       "The lotus blooms in the sight of the sun, and loses all that it has. It would not remain in bud in the eternal winter mist."

       "Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them."

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      Your questioning eyes are sad. They seek to know my meaning as the moon would fathom the sea.

       I have bared my life before your eyes from end to end, with nothing hidden or held back. That is why you know me not.

       If it were only a gem I could break it into a hundred pieces and string them into a chain to put on your neck.

       If it were only a flower, round and small and sweet, I could pluck it from its stem to set it in your hair.

       But it is a heart, my beloved. Where are its shores and its bottom?

       You know not the limits of this kingdom, still you are its queen.

       If it were only a moment of pleasure it would flower in an easy smile, and you could see it and read it in a moment.

       If it were merely a pain it would melt in limpid tears,

       reflecting its inmost secret without a word.

       But it is love, my beloved.

       Its pleasure and pain are boundless, and endless its wants and wealth.

       It is as near to you as your life, but you can never wholly know it.

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      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 cloak will cling round me like night. I will clasp your head to my bosom; and there in the sweet loneliness murmur on your heart. I will shut my eyes and listen. I will not look in your face.

       When your words are ended, we will sit still and silent. Only the trees will whisper in the dark.

       The night will pale. The day will dawn. We shall look at each other's eyes and go on our different paths.

       Speak to me, my love! Tell me in words what you sang.

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      You are the evening cloud floating in the sky of my dreams.

       I paint you and fashion you ever with my love longings.

       You are my own, my own, Dweller in my endless dreams!

       Your feet are rosy-red with the glow of my heart's desire,

       Gleaner of my sunset songs!

       Your lips are bitter-sweet with the taste of my wine of pain.

       You are my own, my own, Dweller in my lonesome dreams!

       With the shadow of my passion have I darkened your eyes,

       Haunter of the depth of my gaze!

       I have caught you and wrapt you, my love, in the net of my music.

       You are my own, my own, Dweller in my deathless dreams!

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      My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes.

       They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the stars.

       My songs are lost in their depths.

       Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity.

       Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine.

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      Tell me if this be all true, my lover, tell me if this be true.

       When these eyes flash their lightning the dark clouds in your breast make stormy answer.

       Is it true that my lips are sweet like the opening bud of the first conscious love?

       Do the memories of vanished months of May linger in my limbs?

       Does the earth, like a harp, shiver into songs with the touch of my feet?

       Is it then true that the dewdrops fall from the eyes of night when I am seen, and the morning light is glad when it wraps my body round?

       Is it true, is it true, that your love travelled alone through ages and worlds in search of me?

       That when you found me at last, your age-long desire found utter peace in my gentle speech and my eyes and lips and flowing hair?

       Is it then true that the mystery of the Infinite is written on this little forehead of mine?

       Tell me, my lover, if all this be true.

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      I love you, beloved. Forgive me my love.

       Like a bird losing its way I am caught.

       When my heart was shaken it lost its veil and was naked.

       Cover it with pity, beloved, and forgive me my love.

       If you cannot love me, beloved, forgive me my pain.

       Do not look askance at me from afar.

       I will steal back to my corner and sit in the dark.

       With both hands I will cover my naked shame.

       Turn your face from me, beloved, and forgive me my pain.

       If you love me, beloved, forgive me my joy.

       When my heart is borne away by the flood of happiness,

       do not smile at my perilous abandonment.

       When I sit on my throne and rule you with my tyranny of love,

       when like a goddess I grant you my favour, bear with my pride,

       beloved, and forgive me my joy.

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      Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.

       I have watched all night, and now my eyes are heavy with sleep.

       I fear lest I lose you when I am sleeping.

       Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.

       I start up and stretch my hands to touch you.

       I ask myself, "Is it a dream?"

      

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