Gitanjali - Verse 50

I had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path,
Then thy golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dream
And I wondered who was this King of all kings!
My hopes rose high and methought my evil days were at an end,
And I stood waiting for alms to be given unasked and for wealth scattered on all sides in the dust.
The chariot stopped where I stood.
Thy glance fell on me and thou camest down with a smile.
I felt that the luck of my life had come at last.
Then of a sudden thou didst hold out thy right hand and say,
"What has thou to give to me?"
Ah, what a kingly jest was it to open thy palm to a beggar to beg!
I was confused and stood undecided,
And then from my wallet I slowly took out the least little grain of corn and gave it to thee.
But how great my surprise when at the day's end I emptied my bag on the floor
To find a least little grain of gold.
- Rabindranath Tagore (Geetanjali Verse 50)

Gitanjali - Verse 34

Let only that little be left of me
Whereby I may name thee my all.

Let only that little be left of my will
Whereby I may feel thee on every side,
And come to thee in everything,
And offer to thee my love every moment.

Let only that little be left of me
Whereby I may never hide thee.

Let only that little of my fetters
Be left whereby I am bound with they will,
And thy purpose is carried out in my life
And that is the fetter of thy love.

- Rabindranath Tagore (Geetanjali, Verse 34)

Gitanjali - Verse 70

Is it beyond thee to be glad
With the gladness of this rhythm?
To be tossed and lost and broken
In the Whirl of this fearful joy?

All things rush on,
They stop not,
They look not behind,
No power can hold them back,
They rush on.

Keeping steps with that
Restless, rapid music,
Seasons come dancing and pass away -
Colors, tunes, and perfumes
Pour in endless cascades
In the abounding joy
That scatters and gives up
And dies every moment.
- Rabindranath Tagore (Gitanjali - Verse 70)

Gitanjali - Verse 89

No more noisy, loud words for me -
Such is my master's will.
Henceforth I deal in whispers.
The speech of my heart
Will be carried on in
Murmurings of a song.

Men hasten to the King's market.
All the buyers and sellers are there.
But I have my untimely leave
In the middle of the day,
In the thick of work.

Let then the flowers
Come out in my garden,
Though it is not their time
And let the midday bees
strike up their lazy hum.

Full many an hour have I spent
In the strife of the good and the evil,
But now it is the pleasure of my playmate
Of the empty days to draw my heart on to him;
And I know not why is this sudden call
To what useless inconsequence.
- Rabindranath Tagore (Gitanjali Verse 89)

Gitanjali - Verse 22

In the deep shadows of the rainy July,
With secret steps,
Thou walkest,
Silent as night,
Eluding all watchers.

Today the morning has closed its eyes,
Heedless of the insistent calls of the loud east wind,
And a thick veil has been drawn over
The ever-wakeful blue sky.

The woodlands have hushed their songs,
And doors are all shut at every house.
Thou art the solitary wayfarer
In this deserted street.
Oh my only friend,
My best beloved,
The gates are open in my house -
Do not pass by like a dream.
- Rabindranath Tagore (Gitanjali Verse 22)

Gitanjali - Verse 14

My desires are many
And my cry is pitiful,
But ever didst thou save me
By hard refusals;
And this strong mercy
Has been wrought into my life
Through and through.

Day by day thou art making me worthy
Of the simple, great gifts
That thou gavest to me uasked -
This sky and the light,
This body and the life and the mind -
saving me from perils of overmuch desire.

There are times when I languidly linger
And times when I languidly linger
And times when I awaken and hurry
In search of my goal;
But cruelly thou hidest thyself from before me.

Day by day thou art
Making me worthy of thy full acceptance
By refusing me ever and anon,
Saving me from perils of weak, uncertain desire.
- Rabindranath Tagore (Geetanjali - Verse 14)

Gitanjali - Verse 23

Art thou abroad on this stormy night on the journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despari.

I have no sleep to-night.
Ever and again I open my door
And look out on the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me,
I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river,
By what far edge of frowning forest,
Through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading hty course
To come to me, my friend?
 Rabindranath Tagore (Geetanjai, Verse 23)

Gitanjali - Verse 88

Deity of the ruined temple!
The broken strings of Vina
Sing no more your praise.
The bells in the evening proclaim
Not your time of worship.
The air is still and silent about you.

In your desolate dwelling
Comes the vagrant spring breeze.
It brings the tiding of flowers -
The flowers that for your worship
Are offered no more.

Your worshiper of old wanders
Ever longing for favor still refused.
In the eventide, when fires and shadows
Mingle with the gloom of dust,
He wearily comes back
To the ruined temple
With hunger in his heart.

Many a festival day comes to you
In silence, deity of the ruined temple.
Many a night of worship
Goes away with lamp unlit.

Many new images are built
By masters of cunning art
And carried to the holy stream
Of oblivion when their time is come.

Only the deity of the ruined temple remains
Un-worshiped in deathless neglect.
-Rabindranath Tagore (Geetanjali, Verse 88)

Gitanjali - Verse 75

Thy gifts to us mortals fulfill all our needs
And yet run back to thee undeminished.

The river has its everyday work
To do and hastens through fields and hamlets;
Yet its incessant stream winds
Towards the washing of thy feet.

The flower sweetens the air
With its perfume;
Yet its last service is to
Offer itself to thee.

Thy worship does not
Impoverish the world.

From the words of poet
Men take what meanings please them;
Yet their last meaning points to thee.
- Rabindranath Tagore (Geetanjali -Verse 75)

Gitanjali - Verse 52

I thought I should ask of thee -
But I dared not -
The rose wreath thou hadst on thy neck.
Thus I waited for the morning,
When thou didst depart,
To find a few fragments on the bed.
And like a beggar I searched in the dawn
Only for a stray petal or two.

Ah me, what is it I find?
What token left of they love?
It is no flower, no spices,
No vase of perfumed water.
It is thy mighty sword,
Flashing as a flame,
Heavy as a bolt of thunder.
The young light of morning
Comes through the window
And spreads itself upon thy bed.
The morning bird twitters and asks,
"Woman, what hast thou got?"
No, it is no flower, nor spices,
Nor vase of perfumed water -
it is thy dreadful sword.

I sit and muse in wonder,
What gift is this of thine.
I can find no place where to hide it.
I am ashamed to wear it,
Frail as I am,
And it hurts me
When I press it to my bosom.
Yet shall I bear in my heart
This honour of the burden of pain,
This gift of thine.

From now there shall be
No fear left for me in this world,
And thou shalst be victorious in all my strife.
Thou hast left death for my companion
And I shall crown him with life.
Thy sword is with me to cut asunder my bonds,
And there shall be no fear left for me in the world.

From now I leave off all petty decorations.
Lord of my heart,
No more shall there be for me
Waiting and weeping in corners,
No more coyness and sweetness of demeanour.
Thou has given me thy sword of adornment.
No more doll's decorations for me!
- Rabindranath Tagore (Gitanjali - Verse 52)

Gitanjali - Verse 83.

Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls

For thy neck with my tears of sorrow.

The stars have wrought their anklets

Of light to deck thy feet,

But mine will hang upon thy breast.

Wealth and fame come from thee

And it is for thee to give or withold them.

But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own,

And when I bring it to thee,

As my offering thou rewardest me

With thy grace.

- Rabindranath Tagore (Gitanjali Verse 83)

Gitanjali - Verse 35.

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action-
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
- Rabindranath Tagore (Gitanjali - Verse 35)

Gitanjali - Verse 23

Art thou abroad on tehis stormy night
On the journey of love, my friend?
The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep to-night.
Ever again I open my door
And look out on the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me.
I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river,
By what far edge of the frowning forest,
Through what mazy depth
Of gloom art thou treading thy course
To come to me, my friend?
- Rabindranath Tagore. Gitanjali. Verse 23.