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)