Gitanjali and Fruit-gathering (1918) (14780401571)

Identifier: gitanjalifruitga00tago (find matches)
Title: Gitanjali and Fruit-gathering
Year: 1918 (1910s)
Authors: Tagore, Rabindranath, 1861-1941 Yeats, W. B. (William Butler), 1865-1939 Tagore, Abanindranath, 1871-1951, illus Basu, Nandalala, 1883-1966
Subjects:
Publisher: New York, The Macmillan Company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation



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hat thy will knows noend in me. And when old words dieout on the tongue, new melodies breakforth from the heart; and where theold tracks are lost, new country isrevealed with its wonders. 38 That I want thee, only thee—let myheart repeat without end. All desiresthat distract me, day and night, arefalse and empty to the core. 30 GITANJALI As the night keeps hidden in itsgloom the petition for light, even thusin the depth of my unconsciousnessrings the cry—I want thee, only thee. As the storm still seeks its end inpeace when it strikes against peacewith all its might, even thus my rebel-lion strikes against thy love and still itscry is—I want thee, only thee. When the heart is hard and parchedup, come upon me with a shower ofmercy. When grace is lost from life, comewith a burst of song. When tumultuous work raises its dinon all sides shutting me out from be-yond, come to me, my lord of silence,with thy peace and rest. When my beggarly heart sitscrouched, shut up in a corner, break
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*> ;: V ^ GITANJALI 31 open the door, my king, and come withthe ceremony of a king. When desire blinds the mind withdehision and dust, 0 thou holy one,thou wakeful, come with thy light andthy thunder. 40 The rain has held back for days anddays, my God, in my arid heart. Thehorizon is fiercely naked—not the thin-nest cover of a soft cloud, not thevaguest hint of a distant cool shower. Send thy angry storm, dark withdeath, if it is thy wish, and with lashesof lightning startle the sky from end toend. But call back, my lord, call backthis pervading silent heat, still and keenand cruel, burning the heart with diredespair. Let the cloud of grace bend low from 32 GITANJALI above like the tearful look of the motheron the day of the fathers wrath. 41 Where dost thou stand behind themall, my lover, hiding thyself in theshadows? They push thee and passthee by on the dusty road, taking theefor naught. I wait here weary hoursspreading my offerings for thee, whilepassers by come and take my f