Class J i \ (o0w?7 
 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm I 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 AND 
 
 CROSSING 
 
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS 
 ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., Limited 
 
 LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. 
 
 TORONTO 
 
^ LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 AND 
 
 CROSSING 
 
 BY 
 
 J^LA, RABINDRANATH TAGORE / 
 
 Nrm fork 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 1918 
 
 AU rights reserved 
 

 Copyright, 1918 
 
 By the MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published January, 1918. 
 
 / 
 
 APR 10 1918 
 
 GI,A494535 ^ 
 
 'VK) 1* 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 
 
You allowed your kingly power to vanish, Sha- 
 jahan, but your wish was to make imperishable 
 a tear-drop of love. 
 
 ^ime has no pity for the human heart, he laughs 
 at its sad struggle to remember/ 
 
 You allured him with beauty, made him cap- 
 tive, and crowned the formless death with fade- 
 less form. 
 
 The secret whispered in the hush of night to 
 the ear of your love is wrought in the perpetual 
 silence of stone. 
 
 Though empires crumble to dust, and cen- 
 turies are lost in shadows, the marble still sighs 
 to. the stars, "I remember." 
 
 "I remember." — But life forgets, for she has 
 her call to the Endless: and she goes on her voy- 
 age unburdened, leaving her memories to the 
 forlorn forms of beauty. 
 
8 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 2 
 
 Come to my garden walk, my love. Pass by the 
 fervid flowers that press themselves on your sight. 
 Pass them by, stopping at some chance joy, 
 that like a sudden wonder of sunset illumines, 
 yet eludes. 
 
 For love's gift is shy, it never tells its name, it 
 flits across the shade, spreading a shiver of joy 
 along the dust. Overtake it or miss it for ever. 
 But a gift that can be grasped is merely a frail 
 flower, or a lamp with a flame that will flicker. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 The fruits come in crowds into my orchard, they 
 jostle each other. They surge up in the hght in 
 an anguish of fullness. 
 
 Proudly step into my orchard, my queen, sit 
 there in the shade, pluck the ripe fruits from 
 their stems, and let them yield, to the utmost, 
 their burden of sweetness at your lips. 
 
 In my orchard the butterflies shake their wings 
 in the sun, the leaves tremble, the fruits clamour 
 to come to completion. 
 
10 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 She is near to my heart as the meadow-flower to 
 the earth; she is sweet to me as sleep is to tired 
 hmbs. My love for her is my life flowing in 
 its fullness, like a river in autumn flood, running 
 with serene abandonment. My songs are one 
 with my love, like the murmur of a stream, that 
 sings with all its waves and currents. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 11 
 
 I WOULD ask for still more, if I had the sky with 
 all its stars, and the world with its endless riches; 
 but I would be content with the smallest corner 
 of this earth if only she were mine. 
 
12 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 6 
 
 In the light of this thriftless day of spring, my 
 poet, sing of those who pass by and do not linger, 
 who laugh as they run and never look back, who 
 blossom in an hour of unreasoning delight, and 
 fade in a moment without regret. 
 
 Do not sit down silently, to tell the beads of 
 your past tears and smiles, — do not stop to pick 
 up the dropped petals from the flowers of over- 
 night, do not go to seek things that evade you, 
 to know the meaning that is not plain, — leave 
 the gaps in your life where they are, for the music 
 to come out of their depths. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 13 
 
 It is little that remains now, the rest was spent 
 in one careless summer. It is just enough to 
 put in a song and sing to you; to weave in a flower- 
 chain gently clasping your wrist; to hang in your 
 ear like a round pink pearl, like a blushing whis- 
 per; to risk in a game one evening and utterly 
 lose. 
 
 My boat is a frail small thing, not fit for cross- 
 ing wild waves in the rain. If you but lightly 
 step on it I shall gently row you by the shelter 
 of the shore, where the dark water in ripples are 
 like a dream-ruffled sleep; where the dove's cooing 
 from the drooping branches makes the noon-day 
 shadows plaintive. At the day's end, when you 
 are tired, I shall pluck a dripping lily to put in 
 your hair and take my leave. 
 
14 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 8 
 
 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? 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 15 
 
 9 
 
 Woman, your basket is heavy, your limbs are 
 tired. For what distance have you set out, with 
 what hunger of profit? The way is long and the 
 dust is hot in the sun. 
 
 See, the lake is deep and full, its water dark 
 like a crow's eye. The banks are sloping and 
 tender with grass. 
 
 Dip your tired feet into the water. The noon- 
 tide wind will pass its fingers through your hair; 
 the pigeons will croon their sleep songs, the leaves 
 will murmur the secrets that nestle in the shadows. 
 
 What matters it if the hours pass and the sun 
 sets; if the way through the desolate land be lost 
 in the waning light. 
 
 Yonder is my house, by the hedge of flowering 
 henna; I will guide you. I will make a bed for 
 you, and light a lamp. In the morning when the 
 birds are roused by the stir of milking the cows, 
 I will waken you. 
 
16 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 10 
 
 What is it that drives these bees from their home; 
 these followers of unseen trails? What cry is 
 this in their eager wings? How can they hear 
 the music that sleeps in the flower soul? How 
 can they find their way to the chamber where 
 the honey lies shy and silent? 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 17 
 
 11 
 
 It was only the budding of leaves in the summer, 
 the summer that came into the garden by the 
 sea. It was only a stir and rustle in the south 
 wind, a few lazy snatches of songs, and then the 
 day was done. 
 
 But let there be flowering of love in the summer 
 to come in the garden by the sea. Let my joy 
 take its birth and clap its hands and dance with 
 the surging songs, and make the morning open 
 its eyes wide in sweet amazement. 
 
18 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 n 
 
 Ages ago when you opened the south gate of 
 the garden of gods, and came down upon the 
 first youth of the earth, O Spring; men and women 
 rushed out of their houses, laughing and dancing, 
 and pelting each other with flower-dust in a sud- 
 den madness of mirth 
 
 Year after year you bring the same flowers 
 that you scattered in your path in that earliest 
 April. Therefore, to-day, in their pervading per- 
 fume, they breathe the sigh of the days that are 
 now dreams, — the clinging sadness of vanished 
 worlds. Your breeze is laden with love-legends 
 that have faded from all human language. 
 
 One day, with fresh wonder, you came into my 
 life that was fluttered with its first love. Since 
 then the tender timidness of that inexperienced 
 joy comes hidden every year in the early green 
 buds of your lemon flowers; your red roses carry 
 in their burning silence all that was unutterable 
 in me; the memory of lyric hours, those days of 
 May, rustles in the thrill of your new leaves born 
 again and again. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 19 
 
 13 
 
 Last night in the garden I offered you my youth's 
 foaming wine. You hfted the cup to your hps, 
 you shut your eyes and smiled while I raised 
 your veil, unbound your tresses, drawing down 
 upon my breast your face sweet with its silence, 
 last night when the moon's dream overflowed the 
 world of slumber. 
 
 To-day in the dew-cooled calm of the dawn 
 you are walking to God's temple, bathed and 
 robed white, with a basketful of flowers in your 
 hand. I stand aside in the shade under the tree, 
 with my head bent, in the calm of the dawn by 
 the lonely road to the temple. 
 
^ LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 14 
 
 If I am impatient to-day, forgive me, my love. 
 It is the first summer rain, and the riverside forest 
 is aflutter, and the blossoming kadam trees, are 
 tempting the passing winds with wine-cups of 
 perfume. See, from all corners of the sky light- 
 nings are darting their glances, and winds are 
 rampant in your hair. 
 
 If to-day I bring my homage to you, forgive 
 me, my love. The everyday world is hidden in 
 the dimness of the rain, all work has stopped in 
 the village, the meadows are desolate. In your 
 dark eyes the coming of the rain finds its music, 
 and it is at your door that July waits with jas- 
 mines for your hair in its blue skirt. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT gl 
 
 15 
 
 Her neighbours call her dark in the village — 
 but she is a lily to my heart, yes, a lily though 
 not fair. Light came muffled with clouds, when 
 first I saw her in the field; her head was bare, 
 her veil was off, her braided hair hanging loose 
 on her neck. She may be dark as they say in 
 the village, but I have seen her black eyes and 
 am glad. 
 
 The pulse of the air boded storm. She rushed 
 out of the hut, when she heard her dappled cow 
 low in dismay. For a moment she turned her 
 large eyes to the clouds, and felt a stir of the 
 coming rain in the sky. I stood at the corner of 
 the ricefield, — if she noticed me, it was known 
 only to her (and perhaps I know it). She is dark 
 as the message of shower in summer, dark as the 
 shade of flowering woodland; she is dark as the 
 longing for unknown love in the wistful night of 
 May 
 
22 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 16 
 
 She dwelt here by the pool with its landing-stairs 
 in ruins. Many an evening she had watched the 
 moon made dizzy by the shaking of bamboo 
 leaves, and on many a rainy day the smell of the 
 wet earth had come to her over the young shoots 
 of rice. 
 
 Her pet name is known here among those date- 
 palm groves, and in the court-years where girls 
 sit and talk, while stitching their winter quilts. 
 The water in this pool keeps in its depth the 
 memory of her swimming limbs, and her wet feet 
 had left their marks, day after day, on the foot- 
 path leading to the village. 
 
 The women who come to-day with their vessels 
 to the water, have all seen her smile over simple 
 jests, and the old peasant, taking his bullocks to 
 their bath, used to stop at her door every day 
 to greet her. 
 
 Many a sailing boat passes by this village; 
 many a traveller takes rest beneath that banyan 
 tree; the ferry boat crosses to yonder ford carry- 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 23 
 
 ing crowds to the market; but they never notice 
 this spot by the village road, near the pool with 
 its ruined landing-stairs, — where dwelt she whom 
 I love. 
 
24 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 17 
 
 While ages passed and the bees haunted the 
 summer gardens, the moon smiled to the HKes 
 of the night, the Hghtnings flashed their fiery 
 kisses to the clouds and fled laughing, the poet 
 stood in a corner, one with the trees and clouds. 
 He kept his heart silent, like a flower, watched 
 through his dreams as does the crescent moon; 
 and wandered like the summer breeze for no 
 purpose. 
 
 One April evening, when the moon rose up 
 like a bubble from the depth of the sunset; and 
 one maiden was busy watering the plants; and 
 one feeding her doe, and one making her peacock 
 dance, the poet broke out singing, — "O listen 
 to the secrets of the world. I know that the lily 
 is pale for the moon's love. The lotus draws her 
 veil aside before the morning sun, and the reason 
 is simple if you think. The meaning of the bee's 
 hum in the ear of the early jasmine has escaped 
 the learned, but the poet knows." 
 
 The sun went down in a blaze of blush, the 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 25 
 
 moon loitered behind the trees, and the south 
 wind whispered to the lotus, that the poet was 
 not as simple as he seemed. The maidens and 
 youths clapped their hands and cried, — "The 
 world's secret is out." They looked into each 
 other's e^^es and sang — "Let our secret as well 
 be flung into the winds." 
 
26 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 18 
 
 Your days will be full of cares, if you must give 
 me your heart. My house by the cross-roads has 
 its doors open and my mind is absent, — for I sing. 
 
 I shall never be made to answer for it, if you 
 must give me your heart. If I pledge my word 
 to you in tunes now, and am too much in earnest 
 to keep it when music is silent, you must forgive 
 me; for the law laid in May is best broken in 
 December. 
 
 Do not always keep remembering it, if you 
 must give me your heart. When your eyes sing 
 with love, and your voice ripples with laughter, 
 my answers to your questions will be wild, and 
 not miserly accurate in facts, — they are to be 
 believed for ever and then forgotten for good. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT %1 
 
 19 
 
 It is written in the book, that Man, when fifty, 
 must leave the noisy world, to go to the forest 
 seclusion. But the poet proclaims that only 
 for the young is the forest hermitage. For it 
 is the birth-place of flowers, and the haunt of 
 birds and bees; and hidden nooks are waiting 
 there for the thrill of lover's whispers. There 
 the moonlight, that is all one kiss for the mdlati 
 flowers, has its deep message, but those who 
 understand it are far below fifty. 
 
 And alas, youth is inexperienced and wilful, 
 therefore it is but meet, that the old should take 
 charge of the household, and the young take to 
 the seclusion of forest shades, and the severe 
 discipline of courting. 
 
28 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 20 
 
 Where is the market for you, my song? Is it 
 there where the learned muddle the summer 
 breeze with their snuff; where dispute is unending 
 if the oil depend upon the cask, or the cask upon 
 the oil; where yellow manuscripts frown upon the 
 fleet-footed frivolousness of life? My song cries 
 out. Ah, no, no, no. 
 
 Where is the market for you, my song? Is it 
 there where the man of fortune grows enormous 
 in pride and flesh in his marble palace, with his 
 books on the shelves, dressed in leather, painted 
 in gold, dusted by slaves, their virgin pages dedi- 
 cated to the god obscure? My song gasped and 
 said. Ah, no, no, no. 
 
 Where is the market for you, my song? Is it 
 there where the young student sits, with his head 
 bent upon his books, and his mind straying in 
 youth's dream-land; where prose is prowling on 
 the desk, and poetry hiding in the heart? There 
 among that dusty disorder, would you care to 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 29 
 
 play hide-and-seek? My song remains silent 
 in shy hesitation. 
 
 Where is the market for you, my song? Is 
 it there where the bride is busy in the house, 
 where she runs to her bedroom the moment she 
 is free, and snatches, from under her pillows, 
 the book of romance so roughly handled by the 
 baby, so full of the scent of her hair? My song 
 heaves a sigh and trembles with uncertain desire. 
 
 Where is the market for you, my song? Is it 
 there where the least of a bird's notes is never 
 missed, where the stream's babbling finds its 
 full wisdom where all the lute-strings of the world 
 shower their music upon two fluttering hearts? 
 My song bursts out and cries, Yes, yes. 
 
30 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 21 
 
 (From the Bengali of Devendranath Sen) 
 
 Methinks, my love, before the daybreak of life 
 you stood under some waterfall of happy dreams, 
 filling your blood with its liquid turbulence. 
 Or, perhaps, your path was through the garden 
 of the gods, where the merry multitude of jas- 
 mine, lilies, and oleanders fell in your arms in 
 heaps, and entering your heart became boisterous. 
 Your laughter is a song whose words are drowned 
 in the clamour of tune, a rapture of odour of 
 flowers that are not seen; it is like the moonlight 
 breaking through your lips' window when the 
 moon is hiding in your heart. I ask for no reason, 
 I forget the cause, I only know that your laughter 
 is the tumult of insurgent life. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 31 
 
 22 
 
 I SHALL gladly suffer the pride of culture to die 
 out in my house, if only in some fortunate future 
 I am born a herd boy in the Brinda forest. 
 
 The herd boy who grazes his cattle sitting 
 under the banyan tree, and idly weaves gunja 
 flowers into garlands, who loves to splash and 
 plunge in the Jamuna's cool deep stream. 
 
 He calls his companions to wake up when 
 morning dawns, and all the houses in the lane 
 hum with the sound of the churn, clouds of dust 
 are raised by the cattle, the maidens come out 
 in the courtyard to milk the kine. 
 
 As the shadows deepen under the tomal trees, 
 and the dusk gathers on the river-banks; when 
 the milkmaids, while crossing the turbulent water, 
 tremble with fear; and loud peacocks, with tails 
 outspread, dance in the forest, he watches the 
 summer clouds. 
 
 When the April night is sweet as a fresh-blown 
 flower, he disappears in the forest with a pea- 
 
32 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 cock's plume in his hair; the swing ropes are 
 twined with flowers on the branches; the south 
 wind throbs with music, and the merry shepherd 
 boys crowd on the banks of the blue river. 
 
 No, I will never be the leader, brothers, of this 
 new age of new Bengal; I shall not trouble to 
 light the lamp of culture for the benighted. If 
 only I could be born, under the shady Asoka 
 groves, in some village of Brinda, where milk is 
 churned by the maidens. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 33 
 
 23 
 
 I LOVED the sandy bank where, in the lonely 
 pools, ducks clamoured and turtles basked in the 
 sun; where, with evening, stray fishing-boats 
 took shelter in the shadow by the tall grass. 
 
 You loved the wooded bank where shadows 
 were gathered in the arms of the bamboo thickets; 
 where women came with their vessels through 
 the winding lane. 
 
 The same river flowed between us, singing the 
 same song to both its banks. I listened to it, 
 lying alone on the sand under the stars; and you 
 listened sitting by the edge of the slope in the 
 early morning light. Only the words I heard 
 from it you did not know and the secret it spoke 
 to you was a mystery for ever to me. 
 
34 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 24 
 
 Your window half opened and veil half raised 
 you stand there waiting for the bangle-seller to 
 come with his tinsel. You idly watch the heavy 
 cart creak on in the dusty road, and the boat- 
 mast crawling along the horizon across the far- 
 off river. 
 
 The world to you is like an old woman's chant 
 at her spinning-wheel, unmeaning rhymes crowded 
 with random images. 
 
 But who knows if he is on his way this lazy 
 sultry noon, the Stranger, carrying his basket 
 of strange wares. He will pass by your door with 
 his clear cry, and you shall fling open your win- 
 dow, cast off your veil, come out of the dusk of 
 your dreams and meet your destiny. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 35 
 
 25 
 
 I CLASP your hands, and my heart plunges into 
 the dark of your eyes, seeking you, who ever evade 
 me behind words and silence. 
 
 Yet I know that I must be content in my love, 
 with what is fitful and fugitive. For we have 
 met for a moment in the crossing of the roads. 
 Have I the power to carry you through this crowd 
 of worlds, through this maze of paths .^ Have I 
 the food that can sustain you, across the dark 
 passage gaping with arches of death .^^ , 
 
36 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 26 
 
 If, by chance you think of me, I shall sing to 
 you when the rainy evening loosens her shadows 
 upon the river, slowly trailing her dim light 
 towards the west, — when the day's remnant is 
 too narrow for work or for play. 
 
 You will sit alone in the balcony of the south, 
 and I shall sing from the darkened room. In 
 the growing dusk, the smell of the wet leaves will 
 come through the window; and the stormy winds 
 will become clamorous in the cocoanut grove. 
 
 When the lighted lamp is brought into the 
 room I shall go. And then, perhaps, you will 
 listen to the night, and hear my song when I 
 am silent. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 37 
 
 27 
 
 I FILLED my tray with whatever I had, and gave 
 it to you. What shall I bring to your feet to- 
 morrow, I wonder. I am like the tree that, at 
 the end of the flowering summer, gazes at the 
 sky with its lifted branches bare of their blossoms. 
 
 But in all my past offerings is there not a single 
 flower made fadeless by the eternity of tears? 
 
 Will you remember it and thank me with your 
 eyes when I stand before you with empty hands 
 at the leave-taking of my summer days? 
 
38 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 28 
 
 I DREAMT that she sat by my head, tenderly 
 ruffling my hair with her fingers, playing the 
 melody of her touch. I looked at her face and 
 struggled with my tears, till the agony of un- 
 spoken words burst my sleep like a bubble. 
 
 I sat up and saw the glow of the milky way 
 above my window, like a world of silence on fire, 
 and I wondered if at this moment she had a dream 
 that rhymed with mine. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 39 
 
 29 
 
 I THOUGHT I had something to say to her when 
 our eyes met across the hedge. But she passed 
 away. And it rocks day and night, Hke a boat, 
 on every wave of the hours the word that I had 
 to say to her. It seems to sail in the autumn 
 clouds in an endless quest and to bloom into 
 evening flowers seeking its lost moment in the 
 sunset. It twinkles like fireflies in my heart to 
 find its meaning in the dusk of despair the word 
 that I had to say to her. 
 
40 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 SO 
 
 The spring flowers break out like the passionate 
 pain of unspoken love. With their breath comes 
 the memory of my old day songs. My heart of 
 a sudden has put on green leaves of desire. My 
 love came not but her touch is in my limbs, and 
 her voice comes across the fragrant fields. Her 
 gaze is in the sad depth of the sky, but where 
 are her eyes? Her kisses flit in the air, but where 
 are her lips.'^ 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 41 
 
 31 
 A POSY 
 
 (From the Bengali of Satyendranath Datta) 
 
 My flowers were like milk and honey and wine; 
 I bound them into a posy with a golden ribbon, 
 
 but they escaped my watchful care and fled away 
 
 and only the ribbon remains. 
 
 My songs were like milk and honey and wine, 
 they were held in the rhythm of my beating heart, 
 but they spread their wings and fled away, the 
 darlings of the idle hours, and my heart beats in 
 silence. 
 
 The beauty I loved was like milk and honey 
 and wine, her lips like the rose of the dawn, her 
 eyes bee-black. I kept my heart silent lest it 
 should startle her, but she eluded me like my 
 flowers and like my songs, and my love remains 
 alone. 
 
42 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 32 
 
 Many a time when the spring day knocked at 
 our door I kept busy with my work and you did 
 not answer. Now when I am left alone and heart- 
 sick the spring day comes once again, but I know 
 not how to turn him away from the door. When 
 he came to crown us with joy the gate was shut, 
 but now when he comes with his gift of sorrow 
 his path must be open. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 43 
 
 33 
 
 The boisterous spring, who once came into my 
 life with its lavish laughter, burdening her hours 
 with improvident roses, setting skies aflame with 
 the red kisses of new-born ashoka leaves, now 
 comes stealing into my solitude through the 
 lonely lanes along the brooding shadows heavy 
 with silence, and sits still in my balcony gazing 
 across the fields, where the green of the earth 
 swoons exhausted in the utter paleness of the sky. 
 
44 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 34 
 
 When our farewell moment came, like a low- 
 hanging rain cloud, I had only time to tie a red 
 ribbon on your wrist, while my hands trembled. 
 To-day I sit alone on the grass in the season of 
 mahua flowers, with one quivering question in 
 my mind, "Do you still keep the little red ribbon 
 tied on your wrist?" 
 
 You went by the narrow road that skirted the 
 blossoming field of flax. I saw that my garland 
 of overnight was still hanging loose from your 
 hair. But why did you not wait till I could gather, 
 in the morning, new flowers for my final gift.^^ 
 I wonder if unaware it dropped on your way, — 
 the garland hanging loose from your hair. 
 
 Many a song I had sung to you, morning and 
 evening, and the last one you carried in your voice 
 when you went away. You never tarried to hear 
 the one song unsung I had for you alone and for 
 ever. I wonder if, at last, you are tired of my 
 song that you hummed to yourself while walking 
 through the field. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 45 
 
 35 
 
 Last night clouds were threatening and amlak 
 branches struggled in the grips of the gusty wind. 
 I hoped, if dreams came to me, they would come 
 in the shape of my beloved, in the lonely night 
 loud with rain. 
 
 The winds still moan through the fields, and 
 the tear-stained cheeks of dawn are pale. My 
 dreams have been in vain, for truth is hard, and 
 dreams, too, have their own ways. 
 
 Last night when the darkness was drunken 
 with storm, and the rain, like night's veil, was 
 torn by the winds into shreds, would it make 
 truth jealous, if untruth came to me in the shape 
 of my beloved, in the starless night loud with 
 rain? 
 
46 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 36 
 
 My fetters, you made music in my heart. I 
 played with you all day long and made you my 
 ornament. We were the best of friends, my 
 fetters. There were times when I was afraid of 
 you, but my fear made me love you the more. 
 You were companions of my long dark night, 
 and I make my bow to you, before I bid you 
 good-bye, my fetters. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 47 
 
 37 
 
 You had your rudder broken many a time, my 
 boat, and your sails torn to tatters. Often had 
 you drifted towards the sea, dragging anchor and 
 heeded not. But now there has spread a crack 
 in your hull and your hold is heavy. Now is the 
 time for you to end your voyage, to be rocked 
 into sleep by the lapping of the water by the 
 beach. 
 
 Alas, I know all warning is vain. The veiled 
 face of dark doom lures you. The madness of 
 the storm and the waves is upon you. The music 
 of the tide is rising high. You are shaken by the 
 fever of that dance. 
 
 Then break your chain, my boat, and be free, 
 and fearlessly rush to your wreck. 
 
48 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 38 
 
 The current in which I drifted ran rapid and 
 strong when I was young. The spring breeze 
 was spendthrift of itself, the trees were on fire 
 with flowers; and the birds never slept from 
 singing. 
 
 I sailed with giddy speed, carried away by the 
 flood of passion; I had no time to see and feel 
 and take the world into my being. 
 
 Now that youth has ebbed and I am stranded 
 on the bank, I can hear the deep music of all 
 things, and the sky opens to me its heart of stars. 
 
LOVER^S GIFT 49 
 
 39 
 
 There is a looker-on who sits behind my eyes. 
 It seems he has seen things in ages and worlds 
 beyond memory's shore, and those forgotten 
 sights glisten on the grass, and shiver on the 
 leaves. He has seen under new veils the face 
 of the one beloved, in twilight hours of many a 
 nameless star. Therefore his sky seems to ache 
 with the pain of countless meetings and partings, 
 and a longing pervades this spring breeze, — the 
 longing that is full of the whisper of ages without 
 beginning. 
 
50 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 40 
 
 A MESSAGE came from my youth of vanished 
 days, saying, "I wait for you among the quiver- 
 ings of unborn May, where smiles ripen for tears 
 and hours ache with songs unsung." 
 
 It says, "Come to me across the worn-out track 
 of age, through the gates of death. For dreams 
 fade, hopes fail, the gathered fruits of the year 
 decay, but I am the eternal truth, and you shall 
 meet me again and again in your voyage of life 
 from shore to shore." 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 51 
 
 41 
 
 The girls are out to fetch water from the river — 
 their laughter comes through the trees, I long to 
 join them in the lane, where goats graze in the 
 shade, and squirrels flit from sun to shadow, 
 across the fallen leaves. 
 
 But my day's task is already done, my jars 
 are filled. I stand at my door to watch the glis- 
 tening green of the areca leaves, and hear the 
 laughing women going to fetch water from the 
 river. 
 
 It has ever been dear to me to carry the burden 
 of my full vessel day after day, in the dew-dipped 
 morning freshness and in the tired glimmer of 
 the dayfall. 
 
 Its gurgling water babbled to me when my 
 mind was idle, it laughed with the silent laughter 
 of my joyous thoughts — it spoke to my heart with 
 tearful sobs when I was sad. I have carried it 
 in stormy days, when the loud rain drowned the 
 anxious cooing of doves. 
 
 My day's task is done, my jars are filled, the 
 
52 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 light wanes in the west, and shadows gather be- 
 neath the trees; a sigh comes from the flowering 
 Hnseed field, and my wistful eyes follow the lane, 
 that runs through the village to the bank of the 
 dark water. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 53 
 
 42 
 
 Are you a mere picture, and not as true as those 
 stars, true as this dust? They throb with the 
 pulse of things, but you are immensely aloof in 
 your stillness, painted form. 
 
 The day was when you walked with me, your 
 breath warm, your limbs singing of life. My 
 world found its speech in your voice, and touched 
 my heart with your face. You suddenly stopped 
 in your walk, in the shadow-side of the Forever, 
 and I went on alone. 
 
 Life, like a child, laughs, shaking its rattle of 
 death as it runs; it beckons me on, I follow the 
 unseen; but you stand there, where you stopped 
 behind that dust and those stars; and you are a 
 mere picture. 
 
 No, it cannot be. Had the lifeflood utterly 
 stopped in you, it would stop the river in its flow, 
 and the footfall of dawn in her cadence of colours. 
 Had the glimmering dusk of your hair vanished 
 in the hopeless dark, the woodland shade of 
 summer would die with its dreams. 
 
54 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 Can it be true that I forgot you? We haste 
 on without heed, forgetting the flowers on the 
 roadside hedge. Yet they breathe unaware into 
 our forgetfulness, filling it with music. You 
 have moved from my world, to take seat at the 
 root of my life, and therefore is this forgetting — 
 remembrance lost in its own depth. 
 
 You are no longer before my songs, but one 
 with them. You came to me with the first ray 
 of dawn. I lost you with the last gold of evening. 
 Ever since I am always finding you through the 
 dark. No, you are no mere picture. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 55 
 
 43 
 
 Dying, you have left behind you the great sad- 
 ness of the Eternal in my life. You have painted 
 my thought's horizon with the sunset colours of 
 your departure, leaving a track of tears across 
 the earth to love's heaven. Clasped in your 
 dear arms, life and death united in me in a mar- 
 riage bond. 
 
 I think I can see you watching there in the 
 balcony with your lamp lighted, where the end 
 and the beginning of all things meet. My world 
 went hence through the doors that you opened — 
 you holding the cup of death to my lips, filling 
 it with life from your own. 
 
56 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 44 
 
 When in your death you died to all that was 
 outside me, vanishing from the thousand things 
 of the world, to be fully reborn in my sorrow, I 
 felt that my life had grown perfect, the man and 
 the woman becoming one in me for ever. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 57 
 
 45 
 Bring beauty and order into my forlorn life, 
 
 woman, as you brought them into my house 
 when you lived. Sweep away the dusty frag- 
 ments of the hours, fill the empty jars and mend 
 all neglects. Then open the inner door of the 
 shrine, light the candle, and let us meet there in 
 silence before our God. 
 
58 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 46 
 
 The sky gazes on its own endless blue and dreams. 
 We clouds are its whims, we have no home. The 
 stars shine on the crown of Eternity. Their 
 records are permanent, while ours are penciled, 
 to be rubbed off the next moment. Our part is 
 to appear on the stage of the air to sound our 
 tambourines and fling flashes of laughter. But 
 from our laughter comes the rain, which is real 
 enough, and thunder which is no jest. Yet we 
 have no claim upon Time for wages, and the 
 breath that blew us into being blows us away 
 before we are given a name. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 59 
 
 47 
 
 The road is my wedded companion. She speaks 
 to me under my feet all day, she sings to my 
 
 dreams all night. 
 
 My meeting with her had no beginning, it be- 
 gins endlessly at each daybreak, renewing its 
 summer in fresh flowers and songs, and her every 
 new kiss is the first kiss to me. 
 
 The road and I are lovers. I change my dress 
 for her night after night, leaving the tattered 
 cumber of the old in the wayside inns when the 
 day dawns. 
 
60 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 48 
 
 I TRAVELLED the old Foad 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 the fields, the pastures crowded 
 with cattle; the breast of earth heaved with the 
 mirth of ripening rice. 
 
 Suddenly there was a tremor in the air, and 
 the sky seemed to kiss me on my forehead. My 
 mind started up like the morning out of mist. 
 
 I forgot to follow the track. I stepped a few 
 paces from the path, and my familiar world ap- 
 peared strange to me, like a flower I had only 
 known in bud. 
 
 My everyday wisdom was ashamed. I went 
 astray in the fairyland of things. It was the best 
 luck of my life, that I lost my path that morning, 
 and found my eternal childhood. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 61 
 
 49 
 
 Where is heaven? you ask me, my child, — the 
 sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and 
 death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and 
 night; it is not of this earth. 
 
 But your poet knows that its eternal hunger 
 is for time and space, and it strives evermore to 
 be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled 
 in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating 
 heart. 
 
 The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers 
 are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in 
 you, in the arms of the mother-dust. 
 
62 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 50 
 THE CHILD 
 
 (Translated from the Bengalin of Dwyendralal RoT/ 
 
 "Come, moon, come down, kiss my darling on 
 the forehead," cries the mother as she holds the 
 baby girl in her lap while the moon smiles as it 
 dreams. There come stealing in the dark the 
 vague fragrance of the summer and the night- 
 bird's songs from the shadow-laden solitude of 
 the mango-grove. At a far-away village rises 
 from a peasant's flute a fountain of plaintive 
 notes, and the young mother, sitting on the 
 terrace, baby in her lap, croons sweetly, "Come, 
 moon, come down, kiss my darling on the fore- 
 head." Once she looks up at the light of the sky, 
 and then at the light of the earth in her arms, 
 and I wonder at the placid silence of the moon. 
 
 The baby laughs and repeats her mother's 
 call, "Come, moon, come down." The mother 
 smiles, and smiles the moonlit night, and I, the 
 poet, the husband of the baby's mother, watch 
 this picture from behind, unseen. 
 
LOVER^S GIFT 63 
 
 51 
 
 The early autumn day is cloudless. The river 
 is full to the brim, washing the naked roots of 
 the tottering tree by the ford. The long narrow 
 path, like the thirsty tongue of the village, dips 
 down into the stream. 
 
 My heart is full, as I look around me and see 
 the silent sky and the flowing water, and feel 
 that happiness is spread abroad, as simply as a 
 smile on a child's face. 
 
64 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 52 
 
 Tired of waiting, you burst your bonds, im- 
 patient flowers, before the winter had gone. 
 Glimpses of the unseen comer reached your way- 
 side watch, and you rushed out running and 
 panting, impulsive jasmines, troops of riotous 
 roses. 
 
 You were the first to march to the breach of 
 death, your clamour of colour and perfume trou- 
 bled the air. You laughed and pressed and 
 pushed each other, bared your breast and dropped 
 in heaps. 
 
 The Summer will come in its time, sailing in 
 the floodtide of the south wind. But you never 
 counted slow moments to be sure of him. You 
 recklessly spent your all in the road, in the terrible 
 joy of faith. 
 
 You heard his footsteps from afar, and flung 
 your mantle of death for him to tread upon. 
 Your bonds break even before the rescuer is seen, 
 you make him your own ere he can come and 
 claim you. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 65 
 
 53 
 CHAMPA 
 
 (From the Bengali of Satyendranath Datta) 
 
 I OPENED my bud when April breathed her last 
 and the summer scorched with kisses the un- 
 willing earth. I came half afraid and half curious, 
 like a mischievous imp peeping at a hermit's cell. 
 
 I heard the frightened whispers of the despoiled 
 woodland, and the Kokil gave voice to the languor 
 of the summer; through the fluttering leaf cur- 
 tain of my birth-chamber I saw the world grim, 
 grey, and haggard. 
 
 Yet boldly I came out strong with the faith 
 of youth, quaffed the fiery wine from the glowing 
 bowl of the sky, and proudly saluted the morn- 
 ing, I, the champa flower, who carry the perfume 
 of the sun in my heart. 
 
66 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 54 
 
 In the beginning of time, there rose from the 
 churning of God's dream two women. One is 
 the dancer at the court of paradise, the desired 
 of men, she who laughs and plucks the minds 
 of the wise from their cold meditations and of 
 fools from their emptiness; and scatters them 
 like seeds with careless hands in the extravagant 
 winds of March, in the flowering frenzy of May. 
 
 The other is the crowned queen of heaven, the 
 mother, throned on the fullness of golden autumn; 
 she who in the harvest-time brings straying 
 hearts to the smile sweet as tears, the beauty 
 deep as the sea of silence, — brings them to the 
 temple of the Unknown, at the holy confluence 
 of Life and Death. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 67 
 
 55 
 
 The noonday air is quivering, like gauzy wings 
 of a dragon-fly. Roofs of the village huts brood 
 birdlike over the drowsy households, while a 
 Kokil sings unseen from its leafy loneliness. 
 
 The fresh liquid notes drop upon the tuneless 
 toil of the human crowd, adding music to lovers' 
 whispers, to mothers' kisses, to children's laughter. 
 They flow over our thoughts, like a stream over 
 pebbles, rounding them in beauty every un- 
 conscious moment. 
 
68 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 56 
 
 The evening was lonely for me, and I was read- 
 ing a book till my heart became dry, and it seemed 
 to me that beauty was a thing fashioned by the 
 traders in words. Tired I shut the book and 
 snuffed the candle. In a moment the room was 
 flooded with moonlight. 
 
 Spirit of Beauty, how could you, whose radiance 
 overbrims the sky, stand hidden behind a candle's 
 tiny flame? How could a few vain words from 
 a book rise like a mist, and veil her whose voice 
 has hushed the heart of earth into ineffable calm.'* 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 69 
 
 57 
 
 This autumn is mine, for she was rocked in my 
 heart. The ghstening bells of her anklets rang in 
 my blood, and her misty veil fluttered in my 
 breath. I know the touch of her blown hair in 
 all my dreams. She is abroad in the trembling 
 leaves that danced in my life-throbs, and her 
 eyes that smile from the blue sky drank their 
 light from me. 
 
70 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 58 
 
 Things throng and laugh loud in the sky; the 
 sands and dust dance and whirl like children. 
 Man's mind is aroused by their shouts; his 
 thoughts long to be the playmates of things. 
 
 Our dreams, drifting in the stream of the vague, 
 stretch their arms to clutch the earth, — their 
 efforts stiffen into bricks and stones, and thus 
 the city of man is built. 
 
 Voices come swarming from the past, — seek- 
 ing answers from the living moments. Beats 
 of their wings fill the air with tremulous shadows, 
 and sleepless thoughts in our minds leave their 
 nests to take flight across the desert of dimness, 
 in the passionate thirst for forms. They are 
 lampless pilgrims, seeking the shore of light, 
 to find themselves in things. They will be lured 
 into poet's rhymes, they will be housed in the 
 towers of the town not yet planned, they have 
 their call to arms from the battlefields of the 
 future, they are bidden to join hands in the strifes 
 of peace yet to come. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 71 
 
 59 
 
 They do not build high towers in the Land of 
 All-I-Have-Found. A grassy lawn runs by the 
 road, with a stream of fugitive water at its side. 
 The bees haunt the cottage porches abloom with 
 passion flowers. The men set out on their errands 
 with a smile, and in the evening they come home 
 with a song, with no wages, in the Land of All- 
 I-Have-Found. 
 
 In the midday, sitting in the cool of their 
 courtyards, the women hum and spin at their 
 wheels, while over the waving harvest comes 
 wafted the music of shepherds' flutes. It re- 
 joices the wayfarers^ hearts who walk singing 
 through the shimmering shadows of the fragrant 
 forest in the Land of All-I-Have-Found. 
 
 The traders sail with their merchandise down 
 the river, but they do not moor their boats in 
 this land; soldiers march with banners flying, 
 but the king never stops his chariot. Travellers 
 who come from afar to rest here awhile, go away 
 
72 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 without knowing what there is in the Land of 
 All-I-Have-Found. 
 
 Here crowds do not jostle each other in the 
 roads. O poet, set up your house in this land. 
 Wash from your feet the dust of distant wander- 
 ings, tune your lute, and at the day's end stretch 
 yourself on the cool grass under the evening star 
 in the Land of All-I-Have-Found. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 73 
 
 60 
 
 Take back your coins, King's Councillor. I 
 am of those women you sent to the forest shrine 
 to decoy the young ascetic who had never seen 
 a woman. I failed in your bidding. 
 
 Dimly day was breaking when the hermit 
 boy came to bathe in the stream, his tawny locks 
 crowded on his shoulders, like a cluster of morn- 
 ing clouds, and his limbs shining like a streak of 
 sunbeam. We laughed and sang as we rowed in 
 our boat; we jumped into the river in a mad 
 frolic, and danced around him, when the sun 
 rose staring at us from the water's edge in a flush 
 of divine anger. 
 
 Like a child-god, the boy opened his eyes and 
 watched our movements, the wonder deepening 
 till his eyes shone like morning stars. He lifted 
 his clasped hands and chanted a hymn of praise 
 in his bird-like young voice, thrilling every leaf 
 of the forest. Never such words were sung to a 
 mortal woman before; they were like the silent 
 hymn to the dawn which rises from the hushed 
 
74 LOVER'S GIFT 
 
 hills. The women hid their mouths with their 
 hands, their bodies swaying with laughter, and 
 a spasm of doubt ran across his face. Quickly 
 came I to his side, sorely pained, and, bowing 
 to his feet, I said, "Lord, accept my service." 
 
 I led him to the grassy bank, wiped his body 
 with the end of my silken mantle, and, kneeling 
 on the ground, I dried his feet with my trailing 
 hair. When I raised my face and looked into 
 his eyes, I thought I felt the world's first kiss to 
 the first woman,— Blessed am I, blessed is God, 
 who made me a woman. I heard him say to 
 me, "What God unknown are you.? Your touch 
 is the touch of the Immortal, your eyes have the 
 mystery of the midnight." 
 
 Ah, no, not that smile. King's Councillor, — 
 the dust of worldly wisdom has covered your 
 sight, old man. But this boy's innocence pierced 
 the mist and saw the shining truth, the woman 
 divine. 
 
 Ah, how the goddess wakened in me, at the 
 awful light of that first adoration. Tears filled 
 my eyes, the morning ray caressed my hair like 
 a sister, and the woodland breeze kissed my 
 forehead as it kisses the flowers. 
 
LOVER'S GIFT 75 
 
 The women clapped their hands, and laughed 
 their obscene laugh, and with veils dragging on 
 the dust and hair hanging loose, they began to 
 pelt him with flowers. 
 
 Alas, my spotless sun, could not my shame 
 weave fiery mist to cover you in its folds? I fell 
 at his feet and cried, "Forgive me." I fled like 
 a stricken deer through shade and sun, and cried 
 as I fled, "Forgive me." The women's foul 
 laughter pressed me like a crackling fire, but 
 the words ever rang in my ears, "What God 
 unknown are you.^^" 
 
CROSSING 
 
The Sun breaks out from the clouds on the day 
 when I must go. 
 
 And the sky gazes upon the earth Hke God's 
 wonder. 
 
 My heart is sad, for it knows not from where 
 comes its call. 
 
 Does the breeze bring the whisper of the world 
 which I leave behind with its music of tears 
 melting in the sunny silence? or the breath 
 of the island in the faraway sea basking in 
 the Summer of the unknown flowers? 
 
 79 
 
80 CROSSING 
 
 2 
 
 When the market is over and they return home- 
 wards through the dusk, 
 
 I sit at the wayside to watch thee plying thy boat. 
 
 Crossing the dark water with the sunset gleam 
 upon thy sail; 
 
 I see thy silent figure standing at the helm and 
 suddenly catch thy eyes gazing upon me; 
 
 I leave my song; and cry to thee to take me across. 
 
CROSSING 81 
 
 The wind is up, I set my sail of songs. 
 
 Steersman, sit at the helm. 
 
 For my boat is fretting to be free, to dance in 
 
 the rhythm of the wind and water. 
 The day is spent, it is evening. 
 My friends of the shore have taken leave. 
 Loose the chain and heave the anchor, we sail by 
 
 the starlight. 
 The wind is stirred into the murmur of music 
 
 at this time of my departure. 
 Steersman, sit at the helm. 
 
82 CROSSING 
 
 Accept me, my lord, accept me for this while. 
 Let those orphaned days that passed without 
 
 thee be forgotten. 
 Only spread this little moment wide across thy 
 
 lap, holding it under thy light. 
 I have wandered in pursuit of voices that drew 
 
 me yet led me nowhere. 
 Now let me sit in peace and listen to thy words 
 
 in the soul of my silence. 
 Do not turn away thy face from my heart's dark 
 
 secrets, but burn them till they are alight 
 
 with thy fire. 
 
CROSSING 83 
 
 The scouts of a distant storm have pitched their 
 cloud-tents in the sky; the light has paled; 
 the air is damp with tears in the voiceless 
 shadows of the forest. 
 
 The peace of sadness is in my heart like the 
 brooding silence upon the master's lute be- 
 fore the music begins. 
 
 My world is still with the expectation of the great 
 pain of thy coming into my life. 
 
84 CROSSING 
 
 6 
 
 Thou hast done well, my lover, thou hast done 
 
 well to send me thy fire of pain. 
 For my incense never yields its perfume till it 
 
 burns, and my lamp is blind till it is lighted. 
 When my mind is numb its torpor must be stricken 
 
 by thy love's lightning; and the very darkness 
 
 that blots my world burns like a torch when 
 
 set afire by thy thunder. 
 
CROSSING 85 
 
 Deliver me from my own shadows, my lord, 
 from the wrecks and confusion of my days. 
 
 For the night is dark and thy pilgrim is blinded, 
 
 Hold thou my hand. 
 
 Deliver me from despair. 
 
 Touch with thy flame the lightless lamp of my 
 sorrow. 
 
 Waken my tired strength from its sleep. 
 
 Do not let me linger behind counting my losses. 
 
 Let the road sing to me of the house at every step. 
 
 For the night is dark, and thy pilgrim is blinded. 
 
 Hold thou my hand. 
 
86 CROSSING 
 
 8 
 
 The lantern which I carry in my hand makes 
 enemy of the darkness of the farther road. 
 
 And this wayside becomes a terror to me, where 
 even the flowering tree frowns like a spectre 
 of scowling menace; and the sound of my 
 own steps comes back to me in the echo of 
 muffled suspicion. 
 
 Therefore I pray for thy own morning light, when 
 the far and the near will kiss each other and 
 death and life will be one in love. 
 
CROSSING 87 
 
 9 
 
 When thou savest me the steps are lighter in 
 the march of thy worlds. 
 
 When stains are washed away from my heart it 
 brightens the light of thy sun. 
 
 That the bud has not blossomed in beauty in 
 my life spreads sadness in the heart of crea- 
 tion 
 
 When the shroud of darkness will be lifted from 
 my soul it will bring music to thy smile. 
 
88 CROSSING 
 
 10 
 
 Thou hast given me thy love, filHng the world 
 
 with thy gifts. 
 They are showered upon me when I do not know 
 
 them, for my heart is asleep and dark is the 
 
 night. 
 Yet though lost in the cavern of my dreams I have 
 
 been thrilled with fitful gladness; 
 And I know that in return for the treasure of thy 
 
 great worlds thou wilt receive from me one 
 
 little flower of love in the morning when my 
 
 heart awakes. 
 
CROSSING 89 
 
 11 
 
 My eyes have lost their sleep in watching; yet 
 
 if I do not meet thee still it is sweet to watch. 
 My heart sits in the shadow of the rains waiting 
 
 for thy love; if she is deprived still it is sweet 
 
 to hope. 
 They walk away in their different paths leaving 
 
 me behind; if I am alone still it is sweet to 
 
 listen for thy footsteps. 
 The wistful face of the earth weaving its autumn 
 
 mists wakens longing in my heart; if it is in 
 
 vain still it is sweet to feel the pain of longing. 
 
90 CROSSING 
 
 12 
 
 Hold thy faith firm, my heart, the day will dawn. 
 The seed of promise is deep in the soil, it will 
 
 sprout. 
 Sleep, like a bud, will open its heart to the light, 
 
 and the silence will find its voice. 
 The day is near when thy burden will become thy 
 
 gift, and thy sufferings will light up thy path. 
 
CROSSING 91 
 
 13 
 
 The wedding hour is in the twihght, when the 
 birds have sung their last and the winds are 
 at rest on the waters, when the sunset spreads 
 the carpet in the bridal chamber and the lamp 
 is made ready to burn through the night. 
 
 Behind the silent dark walks the Unseen Comer 
 and my heart trembles. 
 
 All songs are hushed, for the service will be read 
 under the evening star. 
 
9^ CROSSING 
 
 14 
 
 In the night when noise is tired the murmur of 
 
 the sea fills the air. 
 The vagrant desires of the day come back to their 
 
 rest round the lighted lamp. 
 Love's play is stilled into worship, life's stream 
 
 touches the deep, and the world of forms 
 
 comes to its nest in the beauty beyond all 
 
 forms. 
 
CROSSING 93 
 
 15 
 
 Who is awake all alone in this sleeping earth, 
 in the air drowsing among the moveless 
 leaves? awake in the silent birds' nests, in 
 the secret centres of the flower buds? awake 
 in the throbbing stars of the night, in the 
 depth of the pain of my being? 
 
94 CROSSING 
 
 16 
 
 You came to my door in the dawn and sang; it 
 
 angered me to be awakened from sleep, and 
 
 you went away unheeded. 
 You came in the noon and asked for water; it 
 
 vexed me in my work, and you were sent 
 
 away with reproaches. 
 You came in the evening with your flaming torches. 
 You seemed to me like a terror and I shut my door. 
 Now in the midnight I sit alone in my lampless 
 
 room and call you back whom I turned away 
 
 in insult. 
 
CROSSING 95 
 
 17 
 
 Pick up this life of mine from the dust. 
 
 Keep it under your eyes, in the palm of your 
 right hand. 
 
 Hold it up in the light, hide it under the shadow 
 of death; keep it in the casket of the night 
 with your stars, and then in the morning 
 let it find itself among flowers that blossom 
 in worship. 
 
96 CROSSING 
 
 18 
 
 I KNOW that this life, missing its ripeness in love, 
 
 is not altogether lost. 
 I know that the flowers that fade in the dawn, 
 
 the streams that strayed in the desert, are 
 
 not altogether lost. 
 I know that whatever lags behind in this life laden 
 
 with slowness is not altogether lost. 
 I know that my dreams that are still unfulfilled, 
 
 and my melodies still unstruck, are clinging 
 
 to some lute-strings of thine, and they are 
 
 not altogether lost. 
 
CROSSING 97 
 
 19 
 
 You came to me in the wayward hours of spring 
 
 with flute songs and flowers. 
 You troubled my heart from ripples into waves, 
 
 rocking the red lotus of love. 
 You asked me to come out with you into the 
 
 secret of life. 
 But I fell asleep among the murmurous leaves of 
 
 May 
 When I woke the cloud gathered in the sky and 
 
 the dead leaves flitted in the wind. 
 Through the patter of rain I hear your nearing 
 
 footsteps and the cry to come out with you 
 
 into the secret of death. 
 I walk to your side and put my hand into yours, 
 
 while your eyes burn and water drips from 
 
 your hair. 
 
98 CROSSING 
 
 20 
 
 The day is dim with rain. 
 
 Angry lightnings glance through the tattered 
 
 cloud-veils 
 And the forest is like a caged lion shaking its 
 
 mane in despair. 
 On such a day amidst the winds beating their 
 
 wings, let me find my peace in thy presence. 
 For the sorrowing sky has shadowed my solitude, 
 
 to deepen the meaning of thy touch about 
 
 my heart. 
 
CROSSING 99 
 
 21 
 
 On that night when the storm broke open my door 
 I did not know that you entered my room through 
 
 the ruins. 
 For the lamp was blown out, and it became dark; 
 I stretched my arms to the sky in search of help. 
 I lay on the dust waiting in the tumultuous dark 
 
 and I knew not that storm was your own 
 
 banner. 
 When the morning came I saw you standing upon 
 
 the emptiness that was spread over my house. 
 
100 CROSSING 
 
 22 
 
 Is it the Destroyer who comes? 
 
 For the boisterous sea of tears heaves in the flood- 
 tide of pain. 
 
 The crimson clouds run wild in the wind lashed 
 by lightning, and the thundering laughter of 
 the Mad is over the sky. 
 
 Life sits in the chariot crowned by Death. 
 
 Bring out your tribute to him of all that you 
 have. 
 
 Do not hug your savings to your heart, do not 
 look behind. 
 
 Bend your head at his feet, trailing your hair 
 in the dust. 
 
 Take to the road from this moment. 
 
 For the lamp is blown out and the house is deso- 
 late. 
 
 The storm winds scream through your doors, the 
 walls are rocking, and the call comes from 
 the land of dimness beyond your ken. 
 
 Hide not your face in terror; tears are in vain; 
 your door chains have snapped. 
 
CROSSING 101 
 
 Run out for your voyage to the end of all joys 
 and sorrows. 
 
 Let your steps be the steps of a desperate dance. 
 
 Sing "Victory to Life in Death." 
 
 Accept your destiny, O Bride ! 
 
 Put on your red robe to follow through the dark- 
 ness the torchlight of the Bridegroom! 
 
102 CROSSING 
 
 23 
 
 I CAME nearest to you, though I did not know 
 
 it, — when I came to hurt you. 
 I owned you at last as my master when I fought 
 
 against you to be defeated. 
 I merely made my debt to you burdensome when 
 
 I robbed you in secret. 
 I struggled in my pride against your current only 
 
 to feel all your force in my breast. 
 Rebelliously I put out the light in my house and 
 
 your sky surprised me with its stars. 
 
CROSSING 103 
 
 24 
 
 Have you come to me as my sorrow? All the 
 
 more I must cling to you. 
 Your face is veiled in the dark, all the more I 
 
 must see you. 
 At the blow of death from your hand let my life 
 
 leap up in a flame. 
 Tears flow from my eyes, — let them flow round 
 
 your feet in worship. 
 And let the pain in my breast speak to me that 
 
 you are still mine. 
 
104 CROSSING 
 
 S5 
 
 I HID myself to evade you. 
 
 Now that I am caught at last, strike me, see if I 
 
 flinch. 
 Finish the game for good. 
 
 If you win in the end, strip me of all that I have. 
 I have had my laughter and songs in wayside 
 
 booths and stately halls, — now that you 
 
 have come into my life, make me weep, see 
 
 if you can break my heart. 
 
CROSSING 105 
 
 26 
 
 When I awake in thy love my night of ease will 
 be ended. 
 
 Thy sunrise will touch my heart with its touch- 
 stone of fire, and my voyage will begin in its 
 orbit of triumphant suffering. 
 
 I shall dare to take up death's challenge and 
 carry thy voice in the heart of mockery and 
 menace. 
 
 I shall bare my breast against the wrongs hurled 
 at thy children, and take the risk of stand- 
 ing by thy side where none but thee remains. 
 
106 CROSSING 
 
 27 
 
 I AM the weary earth of suramer bare of life and 
 
 parched. 
 I wait for thy shower to come down in the night 
 
 when I open my breast and receive it in 
 
 silence. 
 I long to give thee in return my songs and flowers. 
 But empty is my store, and only the deep sigh 
 
 rises from my heart through the withered 
 
 grass. 
 But I know that thou wilt wait for the morning 
 
 when my hours will brim with their riches. 
 
CROSSING 107 
 
 28 
 
 Come to me like summer cloud, spreading thy 
 showers from sky to sky. 
 
 Deepen the purple of the hills with thy majestic 
 shadows, quicken the languid forests into 
 flowers, and awaken in the hill-streams the 
 fervour of the far-away quest. 
 
 Come to me like summer cloud, stirring my heart 
 with the promise of hidden life, and the glad- 
 ness of the green. 
 
108 CROSSING 
 
 29 
 
 I HAVE met thee where the night touches the 
 edge of the day; where the light startles the 
 darkness into dawn, and the waves carry 
 the kiss of the one shore to the other. 
 
 From the heart of the fathomless blue comes one 
 golden call, and across the dusk of tears I try 
 to gaze at thy face and know not for certain 
 if thou art seen. 
 
CROSSING 109 
 
 30 
 
 If love be denied me then why does the morning 
 break its heart in songs, and why are these 
 whispers that the south wind scatters among 
 the new-born leaves? 
 
 If love be denied me then why does the midnight 
 bear in yearning silence the pain of the stars? 
 
 And why does this foolish heart recklessly launch 
 its hope on the sea whose end it does not 
 know? 
 
110 CROSSING 
 
 31 
 
 Only a portion of my gift is in this world, the 
 
 rest of it is in my dreams. 
 You, who ever elude my touch, come there in 
 
 secret silence, hiding your lamp. 
 I shall know you by the thrill in the darkness, 
 
 by the whisper of the unseen worlds, by the 
 
 breath of the unknown shore; — 
 I shall know you by the sudden delight of my 
 
 heart melting into sadness of tears. 
 
CROSSING 111 
 
 32 
 
 I KNOW you will win my heart some day, my 
 lover. 
 
 Through your stars you gaze deep into my dreams; 
 
 You send your secrets in your moonbeams to me, 
 and I muse and my eyes dim with tears. 
 
 Your wooing is in the sunny sky thrilling in the 
 tremulous leaves, in the idle hours overflow- 
 ing with shepherds' piping, in the rain- 
 dimmed dusk when the heart aches with its 
 loneliness. 
 
112 CROSSING 
 
 33 
 
 Some one has secretly left in my hand a flower of 
 
 love. 
 Some one has stolen my heart and scattered it 
 
 abroad in the sky. 
 I know not if I have found him or I am seeking 
 
 him everywhere, if it is a pang of bliss or of 
 
 pain. 
 
CROSSING 113 
 
 34 
 
 The rains sweep the sky from end to end. 
 
 In the wild wet wind the jasmines revel in their 
 
 own perfume. 
 There is a secret joy in the bosom of the night, 
 
 it is the joy of the veiled sky in its hidden 
 
 stars, the joy of the midnight forest in its 
 
 hoarded bird-songs. 
 Let me fill my heart with it and carry it in secret 
 
 through the day. 
 
114 CROSSING 
 
 35 
 
 When I travelled in the day I felt secure, and 
 I did not heed the wonder of thy road, for I 
 was proud of my speed; thy own light stood 
 between me and thy presence. 
 
 Now it is night, and I feel thy road at every step 
 in the dark and the scent of flowers filling 
 the silence — like mother's whisper to the child 
 when the light is out. 
 
 I hold tight thy hand and thy touch is with me 
 in my loneliness. 
 
CROSSING 115 
 
 36 
 
 Sailing through the night I came to hfe's feast, 
 
 and the morning's golden goblet was filled 
 
 with light for me. 
 I sang in joy, 
 
 I knew not who was the giver. 
 And I forgot to ask his name. 
 In the midday the dust grew hot under my feet 
 
 and the sun overhead. 
 Overcome by thirst I reached the well. 
 Water was poured to me. 
 I drank it. 
 And while I loved the ruby cup that was sweet as 
 
 a kiss, 
 I did not see him who held it and forgot to ask his 
 
 name. 
 In the weary evening I seek my way home. 
 My guide comes with a lamp and beckons me. 
 I ask his name, 
 But I only see his light through the silence and 
 
 feel his smile filling the darkness. 
 
116 CROSSING 
 
 S7 
 
 Do not leave me and go, for it is night. 
 
 The road through the wilderness is lonely and 
 dark and lost in tangles: 
 
 The tired earth lies still, like one blind and with- 
 out a staff. 
 
 I seem to have waited for this moment for ages 
 to light my lamp and cull my flowers. 
 
 I have reached the brink of the shoreless sea to 
 take my plunge and lose myself for ever. 
 
CROSSING 117 
 
 38 
 
 I DID not know that I had thy touch before it was 
 
 dawn. 
 The news has slowly reached me through my 
 
 sleep, and I open my eyes with its surprise 
 
 of tears. 
 The sky seems full of whispers for me and my 
 
 limbs are bathed with songs. 
 My heart bends in worship like a dewladen flower, 
 
 and I feel the flood of my life rushing to the 
 
 endless. 
 
118 CROSSING 
 
 39 
 
 No guest had come to my house for long, my 
 doors were locked, my windows barred; I 
 thought my night would be lonely. 
 
 When I opened my eyes I found the darkness 
 had vanished. 
 
 I rose up and ran and saw the bolts of my gates 
 all broken, and through the open door your 
 wind and light waved their banner. 
 
 When I was a prisoner in my own house, and 
 the doors were shut, my heart ever planned 
 to escape and to wander. 
 
 Now at my broken gate, I sit still and wait for 
 your coming. 
 
 You keep me bound by my freedom. 
 
CROSSING 119 
 
 40 
 
 Put out the lamps, my heart, the lamps of your 
 
 lonely night. 
 The call comes to you to open your doors, for 
 
 the morning light is abroad. 
 Leave your lute in the corner, my heart, the lute 
 
 of your lonely life. 
 The call comes to you to come out in silence, for 
 
 the morning sings your own songs. 
 
120 CROSSING 
 
 41 
 
 Thy gift of the earliest flower came to me this 
 morning, and came the faint tuning of thy 
 hght. 
 
 I am a bee that has wallowed in the heart of thy 
 golden dawn, 
 
 My wings are radiant with its pollen. 
 
 I have found my place in the feast of songs in 
 thy April, and I am freed of my fetters like 
 the morning of its mist in a mere play. 
 
CROSSING 121 
 
 42 
 
 Free me as free are the birds of the wilds, the 
 
 wanderers of unseen paths. 
 Free me as free are the deluge of rain, and as the 
 
 storm that shakes its locks and rushes on 
 
 to its unknown end. 
 Free me as free is the forest fire, as is the thunder 
 
 that laughs aloud and hurls defiance to 
 
 darkness. 
 
122 CROSSING 
 
 43 
 
 When you called me I was asleep under the sha- 
 dows of my walls and I did not hear you. 
 
 Then you struck me with your own hands and 
 wakened me in tears. 
 
 I started up to see that the sun had risen, that 
 the floodtide had brought the call of the 
 deep, and my boat was ready rocking on the 
 dancing water. 
 
CROSSING 123 
 
 44 
 
 Rejoice ! 
 
 For Night's fetters have broken, the dreams have 
 
 vanished. 
 Thy word has rent its veils, the buds of morning 
 
 are opened; awake, O sleeper! 
 Light's greetings spread from the East to the West, 
 And at the ramparts of the ruined prison rise 
 
 the paeans of Victory! 
 
124 CROSSING 
 
 45 
 
 In this moment I see you seated upon the morn- 
 ing's golden carpet. 
 
 The sun shines in your crown, the stars drop at 
 your feet, the crowds come and bow to you 
 and go, and the poet sits speechless in the 
 corner. 
 
CROSSING 125 
 
 46 
 
 My guest has come to my door in this autumn 
 morning. 
 
 Sing, my heart, sing thy welcome! 
 
 Make thy song the song of the sunht blue, of 
 the dew-damp air, of the lavish gold of har- 
 vest fields, of the laughter of the loud water. 
 
 Or stand mute before him for awhile gazing at 
 his face; 
 
 Then leave thy house and go out with him in 
 silence. 
 
126 CROSSING 
 
 47 
 
 I LIVED on the shady side of the road and watched 
 my neighbours' gardens across the way 
 revelHng in the sunshine. 
 
 I felt I was poor, and from door to door went 
 with my hunger. 
 
 The more they gave me from their careless abund- 
 ance the more I became aware of my beg- 
 gar's bowl. 
 
 Till one morning I awoke from my sleep at the 
 sudden opening of my door, and you came 
 and asked for alms. 
 
 In despair I broke the lid of my chest open and 
 was startled into finding my own wealth. 
 
CROSSING 127 
 
 48 
 
 Thou hast taken him to thine arms and crowned 
 him with death, him who ever waited out- 
 side hke a beggar at hfe's feast. 
 
 Thou hast put thy right hand on his failures and 
 kissed him with peace that stills life's tur- 
 bulent thirst. 
 
 Thou hast made him one with all kings and with 
 the ancient world of wisdom. 
 
128 CROSSING 
 
 49 
 
 In the world's dusty road I lost my heart, but 
 
 you picked it up in your hand. 
 I gleaned sorrow while seeking for joy, but the 
 
 sorrow which you sent to me has turned to 
 
 joy in my life. 
 My desires were scattered in pieces, you gathered 
 
 them and strung them in your love. 
 And while I wandered from door to door, every 
 
 step led me to your gate. 
 
CROSSING 129 
 
 50 
 
 I WAS with the crowd when I was in the road; 
 Where the road ends I find myself alone with you. 
 I knew not when my day dimmed into dusk and 
 
 my companions left me. 
 I knew not when your doors opened and I stood 
 
 surprised at my own heart's music. 
 But are there still traces of tears in my eyes 
 
 though the bed is made, the lamp is lit, and 
 
 we are alone, you and I? 
 
130 CROSSING 
 
 51 
 
 When they came and clamoured and surrounded 
 
 me they hid thee from my sight. 
 I thought I would bring to thee my gifts last of 
 
 all. 
 Now that the day has waned, and they have 
 
 taken their dues and left me alone, 
 I see thee standing at the door. 
 But I find I have no gift remaining to give, and 
 
 I hold both my hands up to thee. 
 
CROSSING 131 
 
 52 
 
 Much have you given to me, 
 
 Yet I ask for more. — 
 
 I come to you not merely for the draught of 
 
 water, but for the spring; 
 Not for guidance to the door alone, but to the 
 
 Master's hall; not only for the gift of love, 
 
 but for the lover himself. 
 
132 CROSSING 
 
 5S 
 
 I HAVE come to thee to take thy touch before I 
 
 begin my day. 
 Let thy eyes rest upon my eyes for awhile. 
 Let me take to my work the assurance of thy 
 
 comradeship, my friend. 
 Fill my mind with thy music to last through the 
 
 desert of noise! 
 Let thy Love's sunshine kiss the peaks of my 
 
 thoughts and linger in my life's valley where 
 
 the harvest ripens. 
 
CROSSING 133 
 
 54 
 
 Stand before my eyes, and let thy glance touch 
 my songs into a flame. 
 
 Stand among thy stars and let me find kindled 
 in their lights my own fire of worship. 
 
 The earth is waiting at the world's wayside; 
 
 Stand upon the green mantle she has flung upon 
 thy path; and let me feel in her grass and 
 meadow flowers the spread of my own salu- 
 tation. 
 
 Stand in my lonely evening where my heart 
 watches alone; fill her cup of solitude, and 
 let me feel in me the infinity of thy love. 
 
134 CROSSING 
 
 55 
 
 Let thy love play upon my voice and rest on my 
 silence. 
 
 Let it pass through my heart into all my move- 
 ments. 
 
 Let thy love like stars shine in the darkness of 
 my sleep and dawn in my awakening. 
 
 Let it burn in the flame of my desires 
 
 And flow in all currents of my own love. 
 
 Let me carry thy love in my life as a harp does 
 its music, and give it back to thee at last 
 with my life. 
 
CROSSING 135 
 
 56 
 
 You hide yourself in your own glory, my King. 
 
 The sand-grain and the dew-drop are more 
 proudly apparent than yourself. 
 
 The world unabashed calls all things its own 
 that are yours — ^yet it is never brought to 
 shame. 
 
 You make room for us while standing aside in 
 silence; therefore love lights her own lamp 
 to seek you and comes to your worship un- 
 bidden. 
 
136 CROSSING 
 
 57 
 
 When from the house of feast I came back home, 
 the spell of the midnight quieted the dance 
 in my blood. 
 
 My heart became silent at once like a deserted 
 theatre with its lamps out. 
 
 My mind crossed the dark and stood among the 
 stars, and I saw that we were playing un- 
 afraid in the silent courtyard of our King's 
 palace. 
 
CROSSING 137 
 
 58 
 
 I WAS musing last night on my spendthrift days, 
 
 when I thought you spoke to me — 
 "In youth's careless career you kept all the doors 
 
 open in your house. 
 The world went in and out as it pleased — the 
 
 world with its dust, doubts, and disorder — 
 
 and with its music. 
 With the wild crowd I came to you again and 
 
 again unknown and unbidden. 
 Had you kept shut your doors in wise seclusion 
 
 how could I have found my way into your 
 
 house .f^" 
 
138 CROSSING 
 
 59 
 
 None needs be thrust aside to make room for you. 
 
 When love prepares your seat she prepares it for 
 all. 
 
 Where the earthly King appears, guards keep out 
 the crowd, but when you come, my King, 
 the whole world comes in your wake. 
 
CROSSING 139 
 
 60 
 
 With his morning songs he knocks at our door 
 
 bringing his greetings of sunrise. 
 With him we take our cattle to the fields and 
 
 play our flute in the shade. 
 We lose him to find him again and again in the 
 
 market crowd. 
 In the busy hour of the day we come upon him 
 
 of a sudden, sitting on the wayside grass. 
 We march when he beats his drum, 
 We dance when he sings. 
 We stake our joys and sorrows to play his game 
 
 to the end 
 He stands at the helm of our boat. 
 With him we rock on the perilous waves. 
 For him we light our lamp and wait when our day 
 
 is done. 
 
140 CROSSING 
 
 61 
 
 Run to his side as his comrades where he works 
 
 with all workers. 
 Sit around him as his partners where he plays his 
 
 games. 
 Follow him where he marches, keeping step to 
 
 the rhythm of his drumbeats. 
 Rush into the thick of the fair — the fair of life and 
 
 death — 
 For there he is with the crowd in the heart of its 
 
 tumult. 
 Do not falter in your journey across the lonely 
 
 hills over the thorns. 
 For his call sounds at every step and we know 
 
 that it is love's voice. 
 
CROSSING 141 
 
 62 
 
 When bells sounded in your temple in the morn- 
 ing, men and women hastened down the 
 woodland path with their offerings of fresh 
 flowers. 
 
 But I lay on the grass in the shade and let them 
 pass by. 
 
 I think it was well that I was idle, for then my 
 flowers were in bud. 
 
 At the end of the day they have bloomed, and I 
 go to my evening worship. 
 
142 CROSSING 
 
 My King's road that lies still before my house 
 
 makes my heart wistful. 
 It stretches its beckoning hand towards me; its 
 
 silence calls me out of my home; with dumb 
 
 entreaties it kisses my feet at every step. 
 It leads me on I know not to what abandonment, 
 
 to what sudden gain or surprises of distress. 
 I know not where its windings end — 
 But my King's road that lies still before my 
 
 house makes my heart wistful. 
 
CROSSING 143 
 
 64 
 
 While I walk to my King's house at the end of 
 
 the day the travellers come to ask me — 
 "What hast thou for King's tribute?" 
 I do not know what to show them or how to 
 
 answer, for I have merely this song. 
 My preparation is large in my house, where the 
 
 claim is much and many are the claimants. 
 But when I come to my King's house I have 
 
 only this single song to offer it for his wreath. 
 
144 CROSSING 
 
 65 
 
 My songs are the same as are the spring flowers, 
 they come from you. 
 
 Yet I bring these to you as my own. 
 
 You smile and accept them, and you are glad at 
 my joy of pride. 
 
 If my song flowers are frail and they fade and 
 drop in the dust, I shall never grieve. 
 
 For absence is not loss in your hand, and the fugi- 
 tive moments that blossom in beauty are 
 kept ever fresh in your wreath. 
 
CROSSING 145 
 
 66 
 
 My King, thou hast called me to play my flute 
 at the roadside, that they who bear the bur- 
 den of voiceless life may stop in their errands 
 for a moment and sit and wonder before the 
 balcony of thy palace gate; that they may see 
 anew the ever old and find afresh what is 
 ever about them, and say, "The flowers are 
 in bloom, and the birds sing." 
 
146 CROSSING 
 
 67 
 
 When my first early songs woke in my heart I 
 
 thought they were the playmates of the 
 
 morning flowers. 
 When they shook their wings and flew into the 
 
 wilderness it seemed to me that they had the 
 
 spirit of the summer which comes down with 
 
 a sudden thunder roar to spend its all in 
 
 laughter. 
 I thought that they had the mad call of the 
 
 storm to rush and lose their way beyond 
 
 the sunset land. 
 But now when in the evening light I see the blue 
 
 line of the shore, 
 I know my songs are the boat that has brought 
 
 me to the harbour across the wild sea. 
 
CROSSING 147 
 
 68 
 
 There are numerous strings in your lute, let me 
 
 add my own among them. 
 Then when you smite your chords my heart will 
 
 break its silence and my life will be one with 
 
 your song. 
 Amidst your numberless stars let me place my 
 
 own little lamp. 
 In the dance of your festival of lights my heart 
 
 will throb and my life will be one with your 
 
 smile. 
 
148 CROSSING 
 
 69 
 
 Let my song be simple as the waking in the 
 
 morning, as the dripping of dew from the 
 
 leaves, 
 Simple as the colours in clouds and showers of 
 
 rain in the midnight. 
 But my lute strings are newly strung and they 
 
 dart their notes like spears sharp in their 
 
 newness. 
 Thus they miss the spirit of the wind and hurt 
 
 the light of the sky; and these strains of my 
 
 songs fight hard to push back thy own music. 
 
CROSSING 149 
 
 TO 
 
 I HAVE seen thee play thy music in life's dancing 
 hall; in the sudden leaf -burst of spring thy 
 laughter has come to greet me; and lying 
 among field flowers I have heard in the grass 
 thy whisper. 
 
 The child has brought to my house the message 
 of thy hope, and the woman the music of 
 thy love. 
 
 Now I am waiting on the seashore to feel thee in 
 death, to find life's refrain back again in the 
 star songs of the night. 
 
150 CROSSING 
 
 71 
 
 I REMEMBER my childhood when the sunrise, 
 like my play-fellow, would burst in to my 
 bedside with its daily surprise of morning; 
 when the faith in the marvellous bloomed 
 like fresh flowers in my heart every day, 
 looking into the face of the world in simple 
 gladness; when insects, birds and beasts, 
 the common weeds, grass and the clouds 
 had their fullest value of wonder; when the 
 patter of rain at night brought dreams from 
 the fairyland, and mother's voice in the even- 
 ing gave meaning to the stars. 
 
 And then I think of death, and the rise of the 
 curtain and the new morning and my life 
 awakened in its fresh surprise of love. 
 
CROSSING 151 
 
 72 
 
 When my heart did not kiss thee in love, O 
 world, thy light missed its full splendour 
 and thy sky watched through the long night 
 with its lighted lamp. 
 
 My heart came with her songs to thy side, whis- 
 pers were exchanged, and she put her wreath 
 on thy neck. 
 
 I know she has given thee something which will 
 be treasured with thy stars. 
 
152 CROSSING 
 
 73 
 
 Thou hast given me thy seat at thy window from 
 the early hour. 
 
 I have spoken to thy silent servants of the road 
 running on thy errands, and have sung with 
 thy choir of the sky. 
 
 I have seen the sea in calm bearing its immeasur- 
 able silence, and in storm struggling to break 
 open its own mystery of depth. 
 
 I have watched the earth in its prodigal feast 
 of youth, and in its slow hours of brooding 
 shadows. 
 
 Those who went to sow seeds have heard my 
 greetings, and those who brought their har- 
 vest home or their empty baskets have passed 
 by my songs. 
 
 Thus at last my day has ended and now in the 
 evening I sing my last song to say that I 
 have loved thy world. 
 
CROSSING 153 
 
 74 
 
 It has fallen upon me, the service of thy singer. 
 In my songs I have voiced thy spring flowers, 
 
 and given rhythm to thy rusthng leaves. 
 I have sung into the hush of thy night and peace 
 
 of thy morning. 
 The thrill of the first summer rains has passed 
 
 into my tunes, and the waving of the autumn 
 
 harvest. 
 Let not my song cease at last, my Master, when 
 
 thou breakest my heart to come into my 
 
 house, but let it burst into thy welcome. 
 
154 CROSSING 
 
 75 
 
 Guests of my life. 
 
 You came in the early dawn, and you in the night. 
 
 Your name was uttered by the Spring flowers 
 
 and yours by the showers of rain. 
 You brought the harp into my house and you 
 
 brought the lamp. 
 After you had taken your leave I found God's 
 
 footprints on my floor. 
 Now when I am at the end of my pilgrimage I 
 
 leave in the evening flowers of worship my 
 
 salutations to you all. 
 
CROSSING 155 
 
 76 
 
 I FELT I saw your face, and I launched my boat 
 
 in the dark. 
 Now the morning breaks in smiles and the spring 
 
 flowers are in bloom. 
 Yet should the light fail and the flowers fade 
 
 I will sail onward. 
 When you made mute signal to me the world 
 
 slumbered and the darkness was bare. 
 Now the bells ring loud and the boat is laden 
 
 with gold. 
 Yet should the bells become silent and my boat 
 
 be empty I will sail onward. 
 Some boats have gone away and some are not 
 
 ready, but I will not tarry behind. 
 The sails have filled, the birds come from the 
 
 other shore. 
 Yet, if the sails droop, if the message of the shore 
 
 be lost, I will sail onward. 
 
156 CROSSING 
 
 7T 
 
 "Traveller, where do you go?" 
 
 "I go to bathe in the sea in the redd'ning dawn, 
 
 along the tree-bordered path." 
 "Traveller, where is that sea?" 
 "There where this river ends its course, where 
 
 the dawn opens into morning, where the day 
 
 droops to the dusk." 
 "Traveller, how many are they who come with 
 
 you?" 
 
 "I know not how to count them. 
 
 They are travelling all night with their lamps 
 
 lit, they are singing all day through land 
 
 and water." 
 "Traveller, how far is the sea?" 
 "How far is it we all ask? 
 The rolling roar of its water swells to the sky when 
 
 we hush our talk. 
 It ever seems near yet far." 
 "Traveller, the sun is waxing strong." 
 "Yes, our journey is long and grievous. 
 
CROSSING 157 
 
 Sing who are weary in spirit, sing who are timid 
 
 of heart." 
 "Traveller, what if the night overtakes you?" 
 "We shall lie down to sleep till the new morning 
 
 dawns with its songs, and the call of the sea 
 
 floats in the air." 
 
158 CROSSING 
 
 78 
 
 Comrade of the road, 
 
 Here are my traveller's greetings to thee. 
 
 O Lord of my broken heart, of leave taking and 
 
 loss, of the grey silence of the day fall, 
 My greetings of the ruined house to thee! 
 
 Light of the new-born morning, 
 Sun of the everlasting day, 
 
 My greetings of the undying hope to thee! 
 My guide, 
 
 1 am a wayfarer of an endless road. 
 My greetings of a wanderer to thee. 
 
 THE END 
 
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 of the West. . . . We can accept his lyrics of children 
 in full comprehension of their worth, even though we 
 have few poets who speak with such understanding.'^ 
 
 — The Outlook. 
 
 "Tagore is probably the greatest living poet, and this 
 book of child poems has the bloom of all young life upon 
 it faithfully transcribed by genius." — Metropolitan. 
 
 1 he vaardener cioth, $1.25; leather, $1.75 
 
 "The very stuff of imagination. . . . Their beauty 
 is as delicate as the reflection of the color of a flower." 
 
 — Westminster Gazette. 
 
 "The verses in this book are far finer and more gen- 
 uine than even the best in 'Gitanjali.'" — The Daily 
 News (London). 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 
 
THE WORKS OF SIR RABINDRANATH TAG ORB 
 
 Stray Birds 
 
 Cloth, 12mo, $1.50 
 Frontispiece in color and decorations by Willy Pogany 
 
 Here is the kernel of the wisdom and insight of the 
 great Hindu seer in the form of short extracts. These 
 sayings are largely taken from his other works, and are 
 the essence of his Eastern message to the Western 
 world. The frontispiece and decorations by Willy 
 Pogany are beautiful in themselves and enhance the 
 spiritual significance of this extraordinary book. 
 
 Fruit Gathering 
 
 Cloth, $1.25; leather, $1.75 
 
 '^Tagore shows us a shining pathway up which we can 
 confidentially travel to those regions of wisdom and 
 experience which consciously or unconsciously we try 
 to reach." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 The Hungry Stones and Other 
 
 St 
 
 ones 
 
 Cloth, $1.35; leather, $1.75 
 
 ''These short stories furnish a double guarantee of the 
 Hindu Nobel Prize winner's rightful place among the 
 notable literary figures of our time." — New York Globe. 
 
 "Imagination, charm of style, poetry, and depth of 
 feeling without gloominess, characterize this volume 
 of stories of the Eastern poet." — Boston Transcript. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 
 
THE WORKS OF SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE 
 
 THE NEW BOLPUR EDITION OF 
 "The Standard Edition of Tagore's Works" 
 
 £ac^ volume in the Bolpur Edition^ cloth^ $^.^0 ; leather, $2.00 
 
 This beautiful new edition, named after Tagore's famous school at Bol- 
 pur, India, is a fitting celebration of his recent visit to America. There are 
 ten volumes in the Bolpur Edition, representing Tagore's previously pub- 
 lished poems, plays and essays, and his two new books just issued, " Fruit 
 Gathering," and " The Hungry Stones, and Other Stories." 
 
 The paper, printing and general appearance of the volumes are unusual, 
 carrying out the intention of the publishers to make these books the stand- 
 ard editions of this distinguished poet's works. 
 
 A special design has been made for the covers, the end papers and title 
 pages are in colors, and each volume contains a photogravure frontispiece, 
 one of these from a portrait of Tagore taken during his recent visit to Japan. 
 
 SIR RABINDRANATH TAGORE'S WORKS 
 
 {Complete in the Bolpur Edition) 
 
 FRUIT GATHERING. (Just published.) A sequel to the famous 
 Gitanjali. 
 
 THE HUNGRY STONES, AND OTHER STORIES. (Just 
 published.) 
 
 CHITRA : A Play in One Act. 
 
 THE CRESCENT MOON: Child Poems. 
 
 THE GARDENER: Love Poems. 
 
 GITANJALI : Religious Poems. 
 
 THE KING OF THE DARK CHAMBER. A Play. 
 
 SONGS OF KABIR. 
 
 SADHANA : The Realization of Life. 
 
 THE POST OFFICE: A Play. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York 
 
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proc 
 Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 Treatment Date: July 2009 
 
 PreservationTechnologi 
 
 A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVAl 
 111 Tbomson Park Drive 
 
AP«^ 
 
 26 
 
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