Complete Works. Rabindranath Tagore
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The artist is the lover of Nature, therefore he is her slave and her master.
86
"How far are you from me, O Fruit?"
I am hidden in your heart, O
87
This longing is for the one who is felt in the dark, but not seen in the day.
"You are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf, I am the smaller one on its upper side," said the dewdrop to the lake.
89
The scabbard is content to be dull when it protects the keenness of the sword.
90
In darkness the One appear as uniform; in the light the One appears as manifold.
91
The great earth makes herself hospitable with the help of the grass.
92
The birth and death of the leaves are the rapid whirls of the eddy whose wider circles move slowly among stars.
93
Power said to the world, "You are mine." The world kept it prisoner on her throne.
Love said to the world, "I am thine."
The world gave it the freedom of her house.
94
The mist is like the earth's desire.
It hides the sun for whom she cries.
95
Be still, my heart, these great trees are prayers.
96
The noise of the moment scoffs at the music of the Eternal.
97
I think of other ages that floated upon the stream of life and love and death and are forgotten, and I feel the freedom of passing away.
98
The sadness of my soul is her bride's veil.
It waits to be lifted in the night.
99
Death's stamp gives value to the coin of life; making it possible to buy with life what is truly precious.
100
The cloud stood humbly in a corner of the sky.
The morning crowned it with splendour
101
The dust receives insult and in return offers her flowers.
102
Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way.
103
Roots are the branches down in the earth.
Branches are roots in the air.
104
The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest.
105
Do not insult your friend by lending him merits from your own pocket.
106
The touch of the nameless days clings to my heart like mosses round the old tree.
107
The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original.
108
God is ashamed when the prosperous boasts of His special favour.
109
I cast my own shadow upon my path, because I have a lamp that has not been lighted.
110
Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamour of silence.
111
That which ends in exhaustion is death, but the perfect ending is in the endless.
112
The sun has his simple robe of light. The clouds are decked with gorgeousness.
113
The hills are like shouts of children who raise their arms, trying to catch stars.
114
The road is lonely in its crowd for it is not loved.
115
The power that boasts of its mischiefs is laughed at by the yellow leaves that fall, and clouds that pass by.
116
The earth hums to me to-day in the sun, like a woman at her spinning, some ballad of the ancient time in a forgotten tongue.
117
The grass-blade is worthy of the great world where it grows.
118
Dream is a wife who must talk.
Sleep is a husband who silently suffers.
119
The night kisses the fading day whispering to his ear, "I am death, your mother. I am to give you fresh birth."
120
I fell thy beauty, dark night, like that of the loved woman when she has put out the lamp.
121
I carry in my world that flourishes the worlds that have failed.
122
Dear friend, I feel the silence of your great thoughts of many a deepening eventide on this beach when I listen to these waves.
123
The bird thinks it is an act of kindness to give the fish a lift in the air.
124
"In the moon thou sendest thy love letters to me," said the night to the sun. "I leave my answers in tears upon the grass."
125
The Great is a born child ; when he dies he gives his great childhood to the world.
126
Not hammer strokes, but dance of the water sings the pebbles into perfection.
127
Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave.
The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him.
128
To be outspoken is easy when you do not wait to speak the complete truth.
129
Asks the Possible to the Impossible, "Where is your dwelling place?"
"In the dreams of the impotent," comes the answer.
130
If you shut your door to all errors truth will be shut out.
131
I hear some rustle of things behind my sadness of heart,—I cannot see them
132
Leisure in its activity is work.
The stillness of the sea stirs in waves.
133
The leaf becomes flower when it doves.
The flower becomes fruit when it worships.
134
The roots below the earth claim no rewards for making the branches fruitful.
135
This rainy evening the wind is restless.
I look at the swaying branches and ponder over the greatness of all things
136
Storm