Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 59

O woman, you are not merely the

handiwork of God, but also of men;

these are ever endowing you with

beauty from their hearts.

Poets are weaving for you a web

with threads of golden imagery;

painters are giving your form ever

new immortality.

The sea gives its pearls, the mines

their gold, the summer gardens their

flowers to deck you, to cover you, to

make you more precious.

The desire of men's hearts has shed

its glory over your youth.

You are one half woman and one

half dream.

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 51

Then finish the last song and let us

leave.

Forget this night when the night is

no more.

Whom do I try to clasp in my

arms? Dreams can never be made captive.

My eager hands press emptiness to

my heart and it bruises my breast.

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 41

I long to speak the deepest words I have to say to you; but I

dare not, for fear you should laugh.

That is why I laugh at myself and shatter my secret in jest.

I make light of my pain, afraid you should do so.

I long to tell you the truest words I have to say to you; but I

dare not, being afraid that you would not believe them.

That is why I disguise them in untruth, saying the contrary of

what I mean.

I make my pain appear absurd, afraid that you should do so.

I long to use the most precious words I have for you; but I dare

not, fearing I should not be paid with like value.

That is why I gave you hard names and boast of my callous

strength.

I hurt you, for fear you should never know any pain.

I long to sit silent by you; but I dare not lest my heart come

out at my lips.

That is why I prattle and chatter lightly and hide my heart

behind words.

I rudely handle my pain, for fear you should do so.

I long to go away from your side; but I dare not, for fear my

cowardice should become known to you.

That is why I hold my head high and carelessly come into your

presence.

Constant thrusts from your eyes keep my pain fresh for ever.

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 55

It was mid-day when you went

away .

The sun was strong in the sky.

I had done my work and sat alone

on my balcony when you went away.

Fitful gusts came winnowing

through the smells of may distant

fields.

The doves cooed tireless in the shade,

and a bee strayed in my room hum-

ming the news of many distant fields.

The village slept in the noonday

heat. The road lay deserted.

In sudden fits the rustling of the

leaves rose and died.

I gazed at the sky and wove in the

blue the letters of a name I had known,

while the village slept in the noonday

heat.

I had forgotten to braid my hair.

The languid breeze played with it upon

my cheek.

The river ran unruffled under the

shady bank.

The lazy white clouds did not move.

I had forgotten to braid my hair.

It was mid-day when you went

away.

The dust of the road was hot and

the fields panting.

The doves cooed among the dense

leaves.

I was alone in my balcony when you

went away.

Rabindranath Tagore – The Gardener 57

I plucked your flower, O world!

I pressed it to my heart and the

thorn pricked.

When the day waned and it

darkened, I found that the flower had

faded, but the pain remained.

More flowers will come to you with

perfume and pride, O world!

But my time for flower-gathering

is over, and through the dark night

I have not my rose, only the pain

remains.