I
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel
thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits
in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of
mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from Gitanjali (1912)
Added by Silvia Velea
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IV
Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing that
thy living touch is upon all my limbs.
I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts,
knowing that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason
in my mind.
I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my
love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine
of my heart.
And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions,
knowing it is thy power gives me strength to act.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from Gitanjali (1912)
Added by Silvia Velea
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LXIX
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of
leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and
of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from Gitanjali (1912)
Added by Lucian Velea
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II
When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart
would break with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my
eyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet
harmony—and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its
flight across the sea.
I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a
singer I come before thy presence.
I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet
which I could never aspire to reach.
Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend
who art my lord.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore from Gitanjali (1912)
Added by Silvia Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian