Fruit-gatheringThis is a collection of poems by Tagore who was a Bengali polymath who reshaped Bengali literature and music in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. He became the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913. In translation his poetry was viewed as spiritual and mercurial; however, his "elegant prose and magical poetry" remain largely unknown outside Bengal. Tagore introduced new prose and verse forms and the use of colloquial language into Bengali literature, thereby freeing it from traditional models based on classical Sanskrit. He was highly influential in introducing the best of Indian culture to the West and vice versa, and he is generally regarded as the outstanding creative artist of the modern Indian subcontinent, being highly commemorated in India and Bangladesh, as well as in Sri Lanka, Nepal and Pakistan. |
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Common terms and phrases
asked bangle beautiful birds blessing blood blossom Boatman bowed breaks breath bride burst child clouds cried to thee dance dark daylight faded death deck door dreams drum earth earthen lamp empty eyes face fear feed the hungry feet fill flash flowers flute forgiveness fulness garden gate glad glistening Guatama hands heaven hide jewelled king King's kissed lamp burning leave Let me hold Lord Buddha lose heart mango Master morning light Narottam night open the bud pain palace palace gate petals play pride RABINDRANATH TAGORE Raghunath road sail Sanatan Satyakāma shadows Shiva shore Shrimati shrine silence sing smile songs stars stood storm Stranger calls stream SUDAS Suddenly sweet tears temple thoughts timid thing touch trees trumpet lies Tulsidas utter veil voice wailing waiting wandered waves weary wind wings woman in sorrow young ascetic youth
Popular passages
Page 107 - LET me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it.
Page 112 - FEEL that all the stars shine in me. The world breaks into my life like a flood. The flowers blossom in my body. All the youthfulness of land and water smokes like an incense in my heart; and the breath of all things plays on my thoughts as on a flute.
Page 69 - THE pain was great when the strings were being tuned, my Master! Begin your music, and let me forget the pain; let me feel in beauty what you had in your mind through those pitiless days. The waning night lingers at my doors, let her take her leave in songs. Pour your heart into my life-strings, my Master, in tunes that descend from your stars.
Page 65 - THE day that stands between you and me makes her last bow of farewell. The night draws her veil over her face, and hides the one lamp burning in my chamber. Your dark servant comes noiselessly and spreads the bridal carpet for you to take your seat there alone with me in the wordless silence till night is done. XLV MY night has passed on the bed of sorrow, and my eyes are tired.
Page 2 - MY life when young was like a flower — a flower that loosens a petal or two from her abundance and never feels the loss when the spring breeze comes to beg at her door. Now at the end of youth my life is like a fruit, having nothing to spare, and waiting to offer herself completely with her full burden of sweetness.
Page 102 - Are my dreams flitting round you like the moths with their manycoloured wings? And are those your songs that are echoing in the dark caves of my being? Who but you can hear the hum of the crowded hours that sounds in my veins to-day, the glad steps that dance in my breast, the clamour of the restless life beating its wings in my body? LXXIV MY bonds are cut, my debts are paid, my door has been opened, I go everywhere.
Page 42 - The King, vexed at heart, went to the spot where Narottam sat on the grass. He asked him, 'Father, why leave my temple of the golden dome, and sit on the dust outside to preach God's love?* 'Because God is not there in your temple,
Page 117 - Whom do you blame, brothers? Bow your heads down! The sin has been yours and ours. The heat growing in the heart of God for ages — The cowardice of the weak, the arrogance of the strong, the greed of fat prosperity, the rancour of the wronged, pride of race, and insult to man...
Page 21 - No: it is not yours to open buds into blossoms. Shake the bud, strike it; it is beyond your power to make it blossom. Your touch soils it, you tear its petals to pieces and strew them in the dust. But no colours appear, and no perfume. Ah! it is not for you to open the bud into a blossom. He who can open the bud does it so simply. He gives it a glance, and the life-sap stirs through its veins. At his breath the flower spreads its wings and flutters in the wind. Colours flush out like heart-longings,...
Page 106 - TIMIDLY I cowered in the shadow of safety, but now, when the surge of joy carries my heart upon its crest, my heart clings to the cruel rock of its trouble. I sat alone in a corner of my house thinking it too narrow for any guest, but now when its door is flung open by an unbidden joy I find there is room for thee and for all the world. I walked upon tiptoe, careful of my person, perfumed, and adorned — but now when a glad whirlwind has overthrown me in the dust I laugh and roll on the earth at...