49
You came down from your throne and stood at my cottage door.
I was singing all alone in a corner， and the melody caught your ear.
You came down and stood at my cottage door.
Masters are many in your hall， and songs are sung there at all hours.
But the simple carol of this novice struck at your love. One plaintive
little strain mingled with the great music of the world， and with a
flower for a prize you came down and stopped at my cottage door.
50
I had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path， when thy
golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dream and I
wondered who was this King of all kings！
My hopes rose high and methought my evil days were at an end， and I
stood waiting for alms to be given unasked and for wealth scattered on
all sides in the dust.
The chariot stopped where I stood. Thy glance fell on me and thou
camest down with a smile. I felt that the luck of my life had come at
last. Then of a sudden thou didst hold out thy right hand and say
`What hast thou to give to me？'
Ah， what a kingly jest was it to open thy palm to a beggar to beg！ I
was confused and stood undecided， and then from my wallet I slowly
took out the least little grain of corn and gave it to thee.
But how great my surprise when at the day's end I emptied my bag on
the floor to find a least little gram of gold among the poor heap. I
bitterly wept and wished that I had had the heart to give thee my all.
51
The night darkened. Our day's works had been done. We thought that the
last guest had arrived for the night and the doors in the village were
all shut. Only some said the king was to come. We laughed and said
`No， it cannot be！'
It seemed there were knocks at the door and we said it was nothing but
the wind. We put out the lamps and lay down to sleep. Only some said，
`It is the messenger！' We laughed and said `No， it must be the wind！'
There came a sound in the dead of the night. We sleepily thought it
was the distant thunder. The earth shook， the walls rocked， and it
troubled us in our sleep. Only some said it was the sound of wheels.
We said in a drowsy murmur， `No， it must be the rumbling of clouds！'
The night was still dark when the drum sounded. The voice came `Wake
up！ delay not！' We pressed our hands on our hearts and shuddered with
fear. Some said， `Lo， there is the king's flag！' We stood up on our
feet and cried `There is no time for delay！'
The king has come——but where are lights， where are wreaths？ Where is
the throne to seat him？ Oh， shame！ Oh utter shame！ Where is the hall，
the decorations？ Someone has said， `Vain is this cry！ Greet him with
empty hands， lead him into thy rooms all bare！'
Open the doors， let the conch-shells be sounded！ in the depth of the
night has come the king of our dark， dreary house. The thunder roars
in the sky. The darkness shudders with lightning. Bring out thy
tattered piece of mat and spread it in the courtyard. With the storm
has come of a sudden our king of the fearful night.
52
I thought I should ask of thee——but I dared not——the rose wreath
thou hadst on thy neck. Thus I waited for the morning， when thou didst
depart， to find a few fragments on the bed. And like a beggar I
searched in the dawn only for a stray petal or two.
Ah me， what is it I find？ What token left of thy love？ It is no
flower， no spices， no vase of perfumed water. It is thy mighty sword，
flashing as a flame， heavy as a bolt of thunder. The young light of
morning comes through the window and spread itself upon thy bed. The
morning bird twitters and asks， `Woman， what hast thou got？' No， it is
no flower， nor spices， nor vase of perfumed water——it is thy dreadful
sword.
I sit and muse in wonder， what gift is this of thine. I can find no
place to hide it. I am ashamed to wear it， frail as I am， and it hurts
me when press it to my bosom. Yet shall I bear in my heart this honour
of the burden of pain， this gift of thine.
From now there shall be no fear left for me in this world， and thou
shalt be victorious in all my strife. Thou hast left death for my
companion and I shall crown him with my life. Thy sword is with me to
cut asunder my bonds， and there shall be no fear left for me in the
world.
From now I leave off all petty decorations. Lord of my heart， no more
shall there be for me waiting and weeping in corners， no more coyness
and sweetness of demeanour. Thou hast given me thy sword for
adornment. No more doll's decorations for me！
53
Beautiful is thy wristlet， decked with stars and cunningly wrought in
myriad-coloured jewels. But more beautiful to me thy sword with its
curve of lightning like the outspread wings of the divine bird of
Vishnu， perfectly poised in the angry red light of the sunset.
It quivers like the one last response of life in ecstasy of pain at
the final stroke of death； it shines like the pure flame of being
burning up earthly sense with one fierce flash.
Beautiful is thy wristlet， decked with starry gems； but thy sword， O
lord of thunder， is wrought with uttermost beauty， terrible to behold
or think of.
54
I asked nothing from thee； I uttered not my name to thine ear. When
thou took'st thy leave I stood silent. I was alone by the well where
the shadow of the tree fell aslant， and the women had gone home with
their brown earthen pitchers full to the brim. They called me and
shouted， `Come with us， the morning is wearing on to noon.' But I
languidly lingered awhile lost in the midst of vague musings.
I heard not thy steps as thou camest. Thine eyes were sad when they
fell on me； thy voice was tired as thou spokest low——`Ah， I am a
thirsty traveller.' I started up from my day-dreams and poured water
from my jar on thy joined palms. The leaves rustled overhead； the
cuckoo sang from the unseen dark， and perfume of babla flowers came
from the bend of the road.
I stood speechless with shame when my name thou didst ask. Indeed，
what had I done for thee to keep me in remembrance？ But the memory
that I could give water to thee to allay thy thirst will cling to my
heart and enfold it in sweetness. The morning hour is late， the bird
sings in weary notes， neem leaves rustle overhead and I sit and think
and think.
55
Languor is upon your heart and the slumber is still on your eyes.
Has not the word come to you that the flower is reigning in splendour
among thorns？ Wake， oh awaken！ let not the time pass in vain！
At the end of the stony path， in the country of virgin solitude， my
friend is sitting all alone. Deceive him not. Wake， oh awaken！
What if the sky pants and trembles with the heat of the midday
sun——what if the burning sand spreads
its mantle of thirst——
Is there no joy in the deep of your heart？ At every footfall of yours，
will not the harp of the road break out in sweet music of pain？
56
Thus it is that thy joy in me is so full. Thus it is that thou hast
come down to me. O thou lord of all heavens， where would be thy love
if I were not？
Thou hast taken me as thy partner of all this wealth. In my heart is
the endless play of thy delight. In my life thy will is ever taking
shape.
And for this， thou who art the King of kings hast decked thyself in
beauty to captivate my heart. And for this thy love loses itself in
the love of thy lover， and there art thou seen in the perfect union of
two.
57
Light， my light， the world-filling light， the eye-kissing light，
heart-sweetening light！
Ah， the light dances， my darling， at the centre of my life； the light
strikes， my darling， the chords of my love； the sky opens， the wind
runs wild， laughter passes over the earth.
The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light. Lilies and
jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light.
The light is shattered into gold on every cloud， my darling， and it
scatters gems in profusion.
Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf， my darling， and gladness without
measure. The heaven's river has drowned its banks and the flood of joy
is abroad.
58
Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song——the joy that makes
the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass， the joy that
sets the twin brothers， life and death， dancing over the wide world，
the joy that sweeps in with the tempest， shaking and waking all life
with laughter， the joy that sits still with its tears on the open red
lotus of pain， and the joy that throws everything it has upon the
dust， and knows not a word.
59
Yes， I know， this is nothing but thy love， O beloved of my
heart——this golden light that dances upon the leaves， these idle
clouds sailing across the sky， this passing breeze leaving its
coolness upon my forehead.
The morning light has flooded my eyes——this is thy message to my
heart. Thy face is bent from above， thy eyes look down on my eyes， and
my heart has touched thy feet.
60
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is
motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the
seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand and they play with empty shells.
With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them
on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim， they know not how to cast nets. Pearl
fishers dive for pearls， merchants sail in their ships， while children
gather pebbles and scatter them again. they seek not for hidden
treasures， they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter and pale gleams the smile of the sea
beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children，
even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with
children， and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the
pathless sky， ships get wrecked in the trackless water， death is
abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the
great meeting of children.
回到前頁(yè)
GITANJALI
61
The sleep that flits on baby's eyes——does anybody know from where it
comes？ Yes， there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where， in the
fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms，
there hang two timid buds of enchantment. From there it comes to kiss
baby's eyes.
The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps——does anybody
know where it was born？ Yes， there is a rumour that a young pale beam
of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud， and
there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed
morning——the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps.
The sweet， soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs——does anybody
know where it was hidden so long？ Yes， when the mother was a young
girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent mystery of
love——the sweet， soft freshness that has bloomed on baby's limbs.
62
When I bring to 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 now 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 flowers 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 that is that is which the summer breeze brings to my
body——when I kiss you to make you smile.
63
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me
seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made
a brother of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter； I
forget that there abides the old in the new， and that there also thou
abidest.
Through birth and death， in this world or in others， wherever thou
leadest me it is thou， the same， the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.
When one knows thee， then alien there is none， then no door is shut.
Oh， grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss of the touch of
the one in the play of many.
64
On the slope of the desolate river among tall grasses I asked her，
`Maiden， where do you go shading your lamp with your mantle？ My house
is all dark and lonesome——lend me your light！' she raised her dark
eyes for a moment and looked at my face through the dusk. `I have come
to the river，' she said， `to float my lamp on the stream when the
daylight wanes in the west.' I stood alone among tall grasses and
watched the timid flame of her lamp uselessly drifting in the tide.
In the silence of gathering night I asked her， `Maiden， your lights
are all lit——then where do you go with your lamp？ My house is all
dark and lonesome——lend me your light.' She raised her dark eyes on
my face and stood for a moment doubtful. `
I have come，' she said at
last， `to dedicate my lamp to the sky.' I stood and watched her light
uselessly burning in the void.
In the moonless gloom of midnight I ask her， `Maiden， what is your
quest， holding the lamp near your heart？ My house is all dark and
lonesome——lend me your light.' She stopped for a minute and thought
and gazed at my face in the dark. `I have brought my light，' she said，
`to join the carnival of lamps.' I stood and watched her little lamp
uselessly lost among lights.
65
What divine drink wouldst thou have， my God， from this overflowing cup
of my life？
My poet， is it thy delight to see thy creation through my eyes and to
stand at the portals of my ears silently to listen to thine own
eternal harmony？
Thy world is weaving words in my mind and thy joy is adding music to
them. Thou givest thyself to me in love and then feelest thine own
entire sweetness in me.
66
She who ever had remained in the depth of my being， in the twilight of
gleams and of glimpses； she who never opened her veils in the morning
light， will be my last gift to thee， my God， folded in my final song.
Words have wooed yet failed to win her； persuasion has stretched to
her its eager arms in vain.
I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my
heart， and around her have risen and fallen the growth and decay of my
life.
Over my thoughts and actions， my slumbers and dreams， she reigned yet
dwelled alone and apart.
many a man knocked at my door and asked for her and turned away in
despair.
There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face， and she
remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition.
67
Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well.
O thou beautiful， there in the nest is thy love that encloses the soul
with colours and sounds and odours.
There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand
bearing the wreath of beauty， silently to crown the earth.
And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted by herds，
through trackless paths， carrying cool draughts of peace in her golden
pitcher from the western ocean of rest.
But there， where spreads the infinite sky for the soul to take her
flight in， reigns the stainless white radiance. There is no day nor
night， nor form nor colour， and never， never a word.
68
Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretched and
stands at my door the livelong day to carry back to thy feet clouds
made of my tears and sighs and songs.
With fond delight thou wrappest about thy starry breast that mantle of
misty cloud， turning it into numberless shapes and folds and colouring
it with hues everchanging.
It is so light and so fleeting， tender and tearful and dark， that is
why thou lovest it， O thou spotless and serene. And that is why it may
cover thy awful white light with its pathetic shadows.
69
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs
through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of
leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of
death， in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this
moment.
You came down from your throne and stood at my cottage door.
I was singing all alone in a corner， and the melody caught your ear.
You came down and stood at my cottage door.
Masters are many in your hall， and songs are sung there at all hours.
But the simple carol of this novice struck at your love. One plaintive
little strain mingled with the great music of the world， and with a
flower for a prize you came down and stopped at my cottage door.
50
I had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path， when thy
golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dream and I
wondered who was this King of all kings！
My hopes rose high and methought my evil days were at an end， and I
stood waiting for alms to be given unasked and for wealth scattered on
all sides in the dust.
The chariot stopped where I stood. Thy glance fell on me and thou
camest down with a smile. I felt that the luck of my life had come at
last. Then of a sudden thou didst hold out thy right hand and say
`What hast thou to give to me？'
Ah， what a kingly jest was it to open thy palm to a beggar to beg！ I
was confused and stood undecided， and then from my wallet I slowly
took out the least little grain of corn and gave it to thee.
But how great my surprise when at the day's end I emptied my bag on
the floor to find a least little gram of gold among the poor heap. I
bitterly wept and wished that I had had the heart to give thee my all.
51
The night darkened. Our day's works had been done. We thought that the
last guest had arrived for the night and the doors in the village were
all shut. Only some said the king was to come. We laughed and said
`No， it cannot be！'
It seemed there were knocks at the door and we said it was nothing but
the wind. We put out the lamps and lay down to sleep. Only some said，
`It is the messenger！' We laughed and said `No， it must be the wind！'
There came a sound in the dead of the night. We sleepily thought it
was the distant thunder. The earth shook， the walls rocked， and it
troubled us in our sleep. Only some said it was the sound of wheels.
We said in a drowsy murmur， `No， it must be the rumbling of clouds！'
The night was still dark when the drum sounded. The voice came `Wake
up！ delay not！' We pressed our hands on our hearts and shuddered with
fear. Some said， `Lo， there is the king's flag！' We stood up on our
feet and cried `There is no time for delay！'
The king has come——but where are lights， where are wreaths？ Where is
the throne to seat him？ Oh， shame！ Oh utter shame！ Where is the hall，
the decorations？ Someone has said， `Vain is this cry！ Greet him with
empty hands， lead him into thy rooms all bare！'
Open the doors， let the conch-shells be sounded！ in the depth of the
night has come the king of our dark， dreary house. The thunder roars
in the sky. The darkness shudders with lightning. Bring out thy
tattered piece of mat and spread it in the courtyard. With the storm
has come of a sudden our king of the fearful night.
52
I thought I should ask of thee——but I dared not——the rose wreath
thou hadst on thy neck. Thus I waited for the morning， when thou didst
depart， to find a few fragments on the bed. And like a beggar I
searched in the dawn only for a stray petal or two.
Ah me， what is it I find？ What token left of thy love？ It is no
flower， no spices， no vase of perfumed water. It is thy mighty sword，
flashing as a flame， heavy as a bolt of thunder. The young light of
morning comes through the window and spread itself upon thy bed. The
morning bird twitters and asks， `Woman， what hast thou got？' No， it is
no flower， nor spices， nor vase of perfumed water——it is thy dreadful
sword.
I sit and muse in wonder， what gift is this of thine. I can find no
place to hide it. I am ashamed to wear it， frail as I am， and it hurts
me when press it to my bosom. Yet shall I bear in my heart this honour
of the burden of pain， this gift of thine.
From now there shall be no fear left for me in this world， and thou
shalt be victorious in all my strife. Thou hast left death for my
companion and I shall crown him with my life. Thy sword is with me to
cut asunder my bonds， and there shall be no fear left for me in the
world.
From now I leave off all petty decorations. Lord of my heart， no more
shall there be for me waiting and weeping in corners， no more coyness
and sweetness of demeanour. Thou hast given me thy sword for
adornment. No more doll's decorations for me！
53
Beautiful is thy wristlet， decked with stars and cunningly wrought in
myriad-coloured jewels. But more beautiful to me thy sword with its
curve of lightning like the outspread wings of the divine bird of
Vishnu， perfectly poised in the angry red light of the sunset.
It quivers like the one last response of life in ecstasy of pain at
the final stroke of death； it shines like the pure flame of being
burning up earthly sense with one fierce flash.
Beautiful is thy wristlet， decked with starry gems； but thy sword， O
lord of thunder， is wrought with uttermost beauty， terrible to behold
or think of.
54
I asked nothing from thee； I uttered not my name to thine ear. When
thou took'st thy leave I stood silent. I was alone by the well where
the shadow of the tree fell aslant， and the women had gone home with
their brown earthen pitchers full to the brim. They called me and
shouted， `Come with us， the morning is wearing on to noon.' But I
languidly lingered awhile lost in the midst of vague musings.
I heard not thy steps as thou camest. Thine eyes were sad when they
fell on me； thy voice was tired as thou spokest low——`Ah， I am a
thirsty traveller.' I started up from my day-dreams and poured water
from my jar on thy joined palms. The leaves rustled overhead； the
cuckoo sang from the unseen dark， and perfume of babla flowers came
from the bend of the road.
I stood speechless with shame when my name thou didst ask. Indeed，
what had I done for thee to keep me in remembrance？ But the memory
that I could give water to thee to allay thy thirst will cling to my
heart and enfold it in sweetness. The morning hour is late， the bird
sings in weary notes， neem leaves rustle overhead and I sit and think
and think.
55
Languor is upon your heart and the slumber is still on your eyes.
Has not the word come to you that the flower is reigning in splendour
among thorns？ Wake， oh awaken！ let not the time pass in vain！
At the end of the stony path， in the country of virgin solitude， my
friend is sitting all alone. Deceive him not. Wake， oh awaken！
What if the sky pants and trembles with the heat of the midday
sun——what if the burning sand spreads
its mantle of thirst——
Is there no joy in the deep of your heart？ At every footfall of yours，
will not the harp of the road break out in sweet music of pain？
56
Thus it is that thy joy in me is so full. Thus it is that thou hast
come down to me. O thou lord of all heavens， where would be thy love
if I were not？
Thou hast taken me as thy partner of all this wealth. In my heart is
the endless play of thy delight. In my life thy will is ever taking
shape.
And for this， thou who art the King of kings hast decked thyself in
beauty to captivate my heart. And for this thy love loses itself in
the love of thy lover， and there art thou seen in the perfect union of
two.
57
Light， my light， the world-filling light， the eye-kissing light，
heart-sweetening light！
Ah， the light dances， my darling， at the centre of my life； the light
strikes， my darling， the chords of my love； the sky opens， the wind
runs wild， laughter passes over the earth.
The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light. Lilies and
jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light.
The light is shattered into gold on every cloud， my darling， and it
scatters gems in profusion.
Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf， my darling， and gladness without
measure. The heaven's river has drowned its banks and the flood of joy
is abroad.
58
Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song——the joy that makes
the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass， the joy that
sets the twin brothers， life and death， dancing over the wide world，
the joy that sweeps in with the tempest， shaking and waking all life
with laughter， the joy that sits still with its tears on the open red
lotus of pain， and the joy that throws everything it has upon the
dust， and knows not a word.
59
Yes， I know， this is nothing but thy love， O beloved of my
heart——this golden light that dances upon the leaves， these idle
clouds sailing across the sky， this passing breeze leaving its
coolness upon my forehead.
The morning light has flooded my eyes——this is thy message to my
heart. Thy face is bent from above， thy eyes look down on my eyes， and
my heart has touched thy feet.
60
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is
motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the
seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand and they play with empty shells.
With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them
on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim， they know not how to cast nets. Pearl
fishers dive for pearls， merchants sail in their ships， while children
gather pebbles and scatter them again. they seek not for hidden
treasures， they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter and pale gleams the smile of the sea
beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children，
even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with
children， and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the
pathless sky， ships get wrecked in the trackless water， death is
abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the
great meeting of children.
回到前頁(yè)
GITANJALI
61
The sleep that flits on baby's eyes——does anybody know from where it
comes？ Yes， there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where， in the
fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms，
there hang two timid buds of enchantment. From there it comes to kiss
baby's eyes.
The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps——does anybody
know where it was born？ Yes， there is a rumour that a young pale beam
of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud， and
there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed
morning——the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps.
The sweet， soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs——does anybody
know where it was hidden so long？ Yes， when the mother was a young
girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent mystery of
love——the sweet， soft freshness that has bloomed on baby's limbs.
62
When I bring to 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 now 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 flowers 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 that is that is which the summer breeze brings to my
body——when I kiss you to make you smile.
63
Thou hast made me known to friends whom I knew not. Thou hast given me
seats in homes not my own. Thou hast brought the distant near and made
a brother of the stranger.
I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter； I
forget that there abides the old in the new， and that there also thou
abidest.
Through birth and death， in this world or in others， wherever thou
leadest me it is thou， the same， the one companion of my endless life
who ever linkest my heart with bonds of joy to the unfamiliar.
When one knows thee， then alien there is none， then no door is shut.
Oh， grant me my prayer that I may never lose the bliss of the touch of
the one in the play of many.
64
On the slope of the desolate river among tall grasses I asked her，
`Maiden， where do you go shading your lamp with your mantle？ My house
is all dark and lonesome——lend me your light！' she raised her dark
eyes for a moment and looked at my face through the dusk. `I have come
to the river，' she said， `to float my lamp on the stream when the
daylight wanes in the west.' I stood alone among tall grasses and
watched the timid flame of her lamp uselessly drifting in the tide.
In the silence of gathering night I asked her， `Maiden， your lights
are all lit——then where do you go with your lamp？ My house is all
dark and lonesome——lend me your light.' She raised her dark eyes on
my face and stood for a moment doubtful. `
I have come，' she said at
last， `to dedicate my lamp to the sky.' I stood and watched her light
uselessly burning in the void.
In the moonless gloom of midnight I ask her， `Maiden， what is your
quest， holding the lamp near your heart？ My house is all dark and
lonesome——lend me your light.' She stopped for a minute and thought
and gazed at my face in the dark. `I have brought my light，' she said，
`to join the carnival of lamps.' I stood and watched her little lamp
uselessly lost among lights.
65
What divine drink wouldst thou have， my God， from this overflowing cup
of my life？
My poet， is it thy delight to see thy creation through my eyes and to
stand at the portals of my ears silently to listen to thine own
eternal harmony？
Thy world is weaving words in my mind and thy joy is adding music to
them. Thou givest thyself to me in love and then feelest thine own
entire sweetness in me.
66
She who ever had remained in the depth of my being， in the twilight of
gleams and of glimpses； she who never opened her veils in the morning
light， will be my last gift to thee， my God， folded in my final song.
Words have wooed yet failed to win her； persuasion has stretched to
her its eager arms in vain.
I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my
heart， and around her have risen and fallen the growth and decay of my
life.
Over my thoughts and actions， my slumbers and dreams， she reigned yet
dwelled alone and apart.
many a man knocked at my door and asked for her and turned away in
despair.
There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face， and she
remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition.
67
Thou art the sky and thou art the nest as well.
O thou beautiful， there in the nest is thy love that encloses the soul
with colours and sounds and odours.
There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand
bearing the wreath of beauty， silently to crown the earth.
And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted by herds，
through trackless paths， carrying cool draughts of peace in her golden
pitcher from the western ocean of rest.
But there， where spreads the infinite sky for the soul to take her
flight in， reigns the stainless white radiance. There is no day nor
night， nor form nor colour， and never， never a word.
68
Thy sunbeam comes upon this earth of mine with arms outstretched and
stands at my door the livelong day to carry back to thy feet clouds
made of my tears and sighs and songs.
With fond delight thou wrappest about thy starry breast that mantle of
misty cloud， turning it into numberless shapes and folds and colouring
it with hues everchanging.
It is so light and so fleeting， tender and tearful and dark， that is
why thou lovest it， O thou spotless and serene. And that is why it may
cover thy awful white light with its pathetic shadows.
69
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs
through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of
leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of
death， in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this
moment.