Poetry
. . . from Rabindranath
My Song
This song of mine will wind its music around you,my child, like the fond arms of love. The song of mine will touch your forehead
like a kiss of blessing. When you are alone it will sit by your side and
whisper in your ear, when you are in the crowd
it will fence you about with aloofness. My song will be like a pair of wings to your dreams,
it will transport your heart to the verge of the unknown. It will be like the faithful star overhead
when dark night is over your road. My song will sit in the pupils of your eyes,
and will carry your sight into the heart of things. And when my voice is silenced in death,
my song will speak in your living heart.
The First Jasmines
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;
I have heard the liquid murmur of the river
through the darkness of midnight;
Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of the road
in the lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil
to accept her lover.
Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines
that I held in my hands when I was a child. Many a glad day has come in my life,
and I have laughed with merrymakers on festival nights. On grey mornings of rain
I have crooned many an idle song. I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of
Bakulas woven by the hand of love. Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh jasmines
that filled my hands when I was a child.
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