Gitanjali is a collection of short poems of Rabindranath Tagore for which he recieved Nobel Prize in 1913. Gitanjali was written in Bengali in 1910 and published in English in 1912.
Gitanjali (60)
On the seashore of endless worlds
children meet. The infinite sky is
motionless overhead and the restless
water is boisterous. On the seashore
of endless worlds the children meet
with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand
and they play with empty shells. With
withered leaves they weave their boats
and smilingly float them on the vast
deep. Children have their play on the
seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they
know not how to cast nets. Pearl
fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in
their ships, while children gather pebbles
and scatter them again. They seek not
for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter and
pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
Death-dealing waves sing meaningless
ballads to the children, even like a
mother while rocking her baby’s cradle.
The sea plays with children, and pale
gleams the smile of the sea beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds
children meet. Tempest roams in the
pathless sky, ships get wrecked in the
trackless water, death is abroad and
children play. On the seashore of endless worlds
is the great meeting of children.
Gitanjali (79)
If it is not my portion to meet thee in
this my life then let me ever feel that
I have missed thy sight–let me not
forget for a moment, let me carry the
pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and
in my wakeful hours.
As my days pass in the crowded
market of this world and my hands
grow full with the daily profits, let me
ever feel that I have gained nothing–
let me not forget for a moment, let me
carry the pangs of this sorrow in my
dreams and in my wakeful hours.
When I sit my the roadside, tired
and panting, when I spread my bed low
in the dust, let me ever feel that the
long journey is still before me–let me
not forget for a moment, let me carry
the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams
and in my wakeful hours.
When my rooms have been decked
out and the flutes sound and the laughter
there is loud, let me ever feel that I
have not invited thee to my house–
let me not forget for a moment, let me
carry the pangs of this sorrow in my
dreams and in my wakeful hours.
Gitanjali (103)
In one salutation to thee, my God, let
all my senses spread out and touch this
world at thy feet.
Like a rain-cloud of July hung low
with its burden of unshed showers let
all my mind bend down at thy door in
one salutation to thee.
Let all my songs gather together
their diverse strains into a single current
and flow to a sea of silence in one
salutation to thee.
Like a flock of homesick cranes flying
night and day back to their mountain
nests let all my life take its voyage
to its eternal home in one salutation to thee.
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