Poems begining by T
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The Source
© Rabindranath Tagore
The sleep that flits on baby's eyes-does anybody know from where
it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where,
in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with
glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there it
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 Recall
© Rabindranath Tagore
The night was dark when she went away, and the slept.
The night is dark now, and I call for her, "Come back, my
darling; the world is asleep; and no one would know, if you came
for a moment while stars are gazing at stars."
The Rainy Day
© Rabindranath Tagore
Sullen clouds are gathering fast over the black fringe of the
forest.
O child, do not go out!
The palm trees in a row by the lake are smiting their heads
The Little Big Man
© Rabindranath Tagore
I am small because I am a little child. I shall be big when I am
as old as my father is.
My teacher will come and say, "It is late, bring your slate
and your books."
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 Land of the Exile
© Rabindranath Tagore
Mother, the light has grown grey in the sky; I do not know what
the time is.
There is no fun in my play, so I have come to you. It is
Saturday, our holiday.
The Judge
© Rabindranath Tagore
Say of him what you please, but I know my child's failings.
I do not love him because he is good, but because he is my
little child.
How should you know how dear he can be when you try to weigh
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 Hero
© Rabindranath Tagore
Mother, let us imagine we are travelling, and passing through a
strange and dangerous country.
You are riding in a palanquin and I am trotting by you on a
red horse.
The Gift
© Rabindranath Tagore
I want to give you something, my child, for we are drifting in the
stream of the world.
Our lives will be carried apart, and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope that I could buy your heart
The Gardener XXXVIII: My Love, Once upon a Time
© Rabindranath Tagore
My love, once upon a time your poet
launched a great epic in his mind.
Alas, I was not careful, and it struck
your ringing anklets and came to
The Gardener XXXIV: Do Not Go, My Love
© Rabindranath Tagore
Do not go, my love, without asking
my leave.
I have watched all night, and now
my eyes are heavy with sleep.
The Gardener XXVIII: Your Questioning Eyes
© Rabindranath Tagore
Your questioning eyes are sad. They
seek to know my meaning as the moon
would fathom the sea.
I have bared my life before your
The Gardener XXVII: Trust Love
© Rabindranath Tagore
"Trust love even if it brings sorrow.
Do not close up your heart."
"Ah no, my friend, your words are
dark, I cannot understand them."
The Gardener XXVI: What Comes From Your Willing Hands
© Rabindranath Tagore
"What comes from your willing
hands I take. I beg for nothing
more."
"Yes, yes, I know you, modest
The Gardener XXIV: Do Not Keep to Yourself
© Rabindranath Tagore
Do not keep to yourself the secret of
your heart, my friend!
Say it to me, only to me, in secret.
You who smile so gently, softly
The Gardener XXII: When She Passed by Me
© Rabindranath Tagore
When she passed by me with quick
steps, the end of her skirt touched
me.
From the unknown island of a
The Gardener XXI: Why Did He Choose
© Rabindranath Tagore
Why did he choose to come to my
door, the wandering youth, when the
day dawned?
As I come in and out I pass by him
The Gardener XX: Day After Day He Comes
© Rabindranath Tagore
Day after day he comes and goes
away.
Go, and give him a flower from my
hair, my friend.
