Morning poems
/ page 273 of 310 /
The Sailor
© Rabindranath Tagore
The boat of the boatman Madhu is moored at the wharf of Rajgunj.
It is uselessly laden with jute, and has been lying there idle
for ever so long.
If he would only lend me his boat, I should man her with a
The Last Bargain
© Rabindranath Tagore
"Come and hire me," I cried, while in the morning I was walking on the stone-paved road.
Sword in hand, the King came in his chariot.
He held my hand and said, "I will hire you with my power."
But his power counted for nought, and he went away in his chariot.
The Journey
© Rabindranath Tagore
The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs;
and the flowers were all merry by the roadside;
and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds
while we busily went on our way and paid no heed.
The Gardener XLVIII: Free Me
© Rabindranath Tagore
Free me from the bonds of your
sweetness, my love! Nor more of this
wine of kisses.
This mist of heavy incense stifles
The Gardener XIII: I Asked Nothing
© Rabindranath Tagore
I asked nothing, only stood at the
edge of the wood behind the tree.
Languor was still upon the eyes
of the dawn, and the dew in the air.
The Gardener LXXXIV: Over the Green
© Rabindranath Tagore
Over the green and yellow rice-fields
sweep the shadows of the autumn
clouds followed by the swift-chasing
sun.
The Gardener LXXXIII: She Dwelt on the Hillside
© Rabindranath Tagore
She dwelt on the hillside by edge
of a maize-field, near the spring that
flows in laughing rills through the
solemn shadows of ancient trees. The
The Gardener LXXVI: The Fair Was On
© Rabindranath Tagore
The fair was on before the temple.
It had rained from the early morning
and the day came to its end.
Brighter than all the gladness of
The Gardener LXIV: I Spent My Day
© Rabindranath Tagore
I spent my day on the scorching
hot dust of the road.
Now, in the cool of the evening, I
knock at the door of the inn. It is
The Gardener IV: Ah Me
© Rabindranath Tagore
Ah me, why did they build my
house by the road to the market
town?
They moor their laden boats near
The Further Bank
© Rabindranath Tagore
I long to go over there to the further bank of the river.
Where those boats are tied to the bamboo poles in a line;
Where men cross over in their boats in the morning with
ploughs on their shoulders to till their far-away fields;
The First Jasmines
© Rabindranath Tagore
Ah, these jasmines, these white jasmines!
I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands with
these jasmines, these white jasmines.
I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
The Beginning
© Rabindranath Tagore
"Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?" the baby asked
its mother.
She answered, half crying, half laughing, and clasping the
baby to her breast-
She
© Rabindranath Tagore
She who ever had remained in the depth of my being,
in the twilight of gleams and of glimpses;
she who never opened her veils in the morning light,
will be my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my final song.
Roaming Cloud
© Rabindranath Tagore
I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious!
Thy touch has not yet melted my vapor,
making me one with thy light,
and thus I count months and years separated from thee.
Playthings
© Rabindranath Tagore
Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust, playing with a broken twig all the morning.
I smile at your play with that little bit of a broken twig.
I am busy with my accounts, adding up figures by the hour.
Perhaps you glance at me and think, "What a stupid game to spoil your morning with!"
Patience
© Rabindranath Tagore
If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it.
I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil
and its head bent low with patience.
Passing Breeze
© Rabindranath Tagore
Yes, I know, this is nothing but thy love,
O beloved of my heart---this golden light that dances upon the leaves,
these idle clouds sailing across the sky,
this passing breeze leaving its coolness upon my forehead.
Lover's Gifts XXII: I Shall Gladly Suffer
© Rabindranath Tagore
I shall gladly suffer the pride of culture to die out in my house,
if only in some happy future I am born a herd-boy in the Brinda
forest.
The herd-boy who grazes his cattle sitting under the banyan
Lover's Gifts XLVIII: I Travelled the Old Road
© Rabindranath Tagore
I travelled the old road every day, I took my fruits to the market,
my cattle to the meadows, I ferried my boat across the stream and
all the ways were well known to me.
One morning my basket was heavy with wares. Men were busy in
