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Best Famous Rabindranath Tagore Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Rabindranath Tagore poems. This is a select list of the best famous Rabindranath Tagore poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Rabindranath Tagore poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Rabindranath Tagore poems.

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by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Recall

 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.
" She went away when the trees were in bud and the spring was young.
Now the flowers are in high bloom and I call, "Come back, my darling.
The children gather and scatter flowers in reckless sport.
And if you come and take one little blossom no one will miss it.
" Those that used to play are playing still, so spendthrift is life.
I listen to their chatter and call, "Come back, my darling, for mother's heart is full to the brim with love, and if you come to snatch only one little kiss from her no one will grudge it.
"


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

Lovers Gifts VIII: There Is Room for You

 There is room for you.
You are alone with your few sheaves of rice.
My boat is crowded, it is heavily laden, but how can I turn you away? Your young body is slim and swaying; there is a twinkling smile in the edge of your eyes, and your robe is coloured like the rain cloud.
The travellers will land for different roads and homes.
You will sit for a while on the prow of my boat, and at the journey's end none will keep you back.
Where do you go, and to what home, to garner your sheaves? I will not question you, but when I fold my sails and moor my boat I shall sit and wonder in the evening, -Where do you go, and to what home, to garner your sheaves?


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

O Fool

 O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders! 
O beggar, to come beg at thy own door! 

Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all, 
and never look behind in regret.
Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its breath.
It is unholy---take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

Ocean of Forms

 I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, 
hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.
No more sailing from harbor to harbor with this my weather-beaten boat.
The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves.
And now I am eager to die into the deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss where swells up the music of toneless strings I shall take this harp of my life.
I shall tune it to the notes of forever, and when it has sobbed out its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at the feet of the silent.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

Innermost One

 He it is, the innermost one, 
who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches.
He it is who puts his enchantment upon these eyes and joyfully plays on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain.
He it is who weaves the web of this maya in evanescent hues of gold and silver, blue and green, and lets peep out through the folds his feet, at whose touch I forget myself.
Days come and ages pass, and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name, in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and of sorrow.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

Journey Home

 The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.
I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a star and planet.
It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, and that training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a tune.
The traveler has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost shrine at the end.
My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said `Here art thou!' The question and the cry `Oh, where?' melt into tears of a thousand streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance `I am!'


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

When and Why

 When I bring you coloured toys, my child, I understand why there
is such a play of colours on clouds, on water, and why flowers are
painted in tints-when I give coloured toys to you, my child.
When I sing to make you dance, I truly know why there is music in leaves, and why waves send their chorus of voices to the heart of the listening earth-when I sing to make you dance.
When I bring sweet things to your greedy hands, I know why there is honey in the cup of the flower, and why fruits are secretly filled with sweet juice-when I bring sweet things to your greedy hands.
When I kiss your face to make you smile, my darling, I surely understand what pleasure streams from the sky in morning light, and what delight the summer breeze brings to my body-when I kiss you to make you smile.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

When Day Is Done

 If the day is done, 
if birds sing no more, 
if the wind has flagged tired, 
then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me, 
even as thou hast wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep 
and tenderly closed the petals of the drooping lotus at dusk.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Lotus

 On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying, 
and I knew it not.
My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.
Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.
That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to me that is was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its completion.
I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener XXII: When She Passed by Me

 When she passed by me with quick
steps, the end of her skirt touched
me.
From the unknown island of a heart came a sudden warm breath of spring.
A flutter of a flitting touch brushed me and vanished in a moment, like a torn flower petal blown in the breeze.
It fell upon my heart like a sigh of her body and whisper of her heart.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener XXIV: Do Not Keep to Yourself

 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 whisper, my heart will hear it, not my ears.
The night is deep, the house is silent, the birds' nests are shrouded with sleep.
Speak to me through hesitating tears, through faltering smiles, through sweet shame and pain, the secret of your heart!


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener XXVI: What Comes From Your Willing Hands

 "What comes from your willing 
hands I take.
I beg for nothing more.
" "Yes, yes, I know you, modest mendicant, you ask for all that one has.
" "If there be a stray flower for me I will wear it in my heart.
" "But if there be thorns?" "I will endure them.
" "Yes, yes, I know you, modest mendicant, you ask for all that one has.
" "If but once you should raise your loving eyes to my face it would make my life sweet beyond death.
" "But if there be only cruel glances?" "I will keep them piercing my heart.
" "Yes, yes, I know you, modest mendicant, you ask for all that one has.
"


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener XXVII: Trust Love

 "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.
" "Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies.
But sorrow is strong and abiding.
Let sorrowful love wake in your eyes.
" "Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them.
" "The lotus blooms in the sight of the sun, and loses all that it has.
It would not remain in bud in the eternal winter mist.
" "Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them.
"


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener XXXIV: Do Not Go My Love

 Do not go, my love, without asking
my leave.
I have watched all night, and now my eyes are heavy with sleep.
I fear lest I lose you when I'm sleeping.
Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.
I start up and stretch my hands to touch you.
I ask myself, "Is it a dream?" Could I but entangle your feet with my heart and hold them fast to my breast! Do not go, my love, without asking my leave.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener XXXVIII: My Love Once upon a Time

 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 grief.
It broke up into scraps of songs and lay scattered at your feet.
All my cargo of the stories of old wars was tossed by the laughing waves and soaked in tears and sank.
You must make this loss good to me, my love.
If my claims to immortal fame after death are scattered, make me immortal while I live.
And I will not mourn for my loss nor blame you.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Judge

 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 his merits against his faults? When I must punish him he becomes all the more a part of my being.
When I cause his tears to come my heart weeps with him.
I alone have a right to blame and punish, for he only may chastise who loves.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener LXI: Peace My Heart

 Peace, my heart, let the time for
the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener LXIV: I Spent My Day

 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 deserted and in ruins.
A grim ashath tree spreads its hungry clutching roots through the gaping fissures of the walls.
Days have been when wayfarers came here to wash their weary feet.
They spread their mats in the courtyard in the dim light of the early moon, and sat and talked of strange lands.
They woke refreshed in the morning when birds made them glad, and friendly flowers nodded their heads at them from the wayside.
But no lighted lamp awaited me when I came here.
The black smudges of smoke left by many a forgotten evening lamp stare, like blind eyes, from the wall.
Fireflies flit in the bush near the dried-up pond, and bamboo branches fling their shadows on the grass- grown path.
I am the guest of no one at the end of my day.
The long night is before me, and I am tired.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener LXIX: I Hunt for the Golden Stag

 I hunt for the golden stag.
You may smile, my friends, but I pursue the vision that eludes me.
I run across hills and dales, I wander through nameless lands, because I am hunting for the golden stag.
You come and buy in the market and go back to your homes laden with goods, but the spell of the homeless winds has touched me I know not when and where.
I have no care in my heart; all my belongings I have left far behind me.
I run across hills and dales, I wander through nameless lands--because I am hunting for the golden stag.


by Rabindranath Tagore | |

The Gardener LXXV: At Midnight

 At midnight the would-be ascetic
announced:
"This is the time to give up my
home and seek for God.
Ah, who has held me so long in delusion here?" God whispered, "I," but the ears of the man were stopped.
With a baby asleep at her breast lay his wife, peacefully sleeping on one side of the bed.
The man said, "Who are ye that have fooled me so long?" The voice said again, "They are God," but he heard it not.
The baby cried out in its dream, nestling close to its mother.
God commanded, "Stop, fool, leave not thy home," but still he heard not.
God sighed and complained, "Why does my servant wander to seek me, forsaking me?"