Gitanjali

I stand under the golden canopy of thine evening sky and I lift my eager eyes to thy face

no hope, no happiness, no vision of a face seen through tears

But infinite is thy mansion, my lord, and seeking her I have to come to thy door.

It is thy messenger who stands at my door.

I will worship him with folded hands, and with tears. I will worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart

leaving a dark shadow on my morning; and in my desolate

It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and desires, into sufferings and joys in human homes; and this it is that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet’s heart.

thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last.

Thou knowest how to wait.

having no time we must scramble for a chances

Time is endless in thy hands, my lord