Gitanjali
useless inconsequence.” An innocence, a simplicity that one does not
find elsewhere in literature makes the birds and the leaves seem as
near to him as they are near to children, and the changes of the
seasons great events as before our thoughts had arisen between them and
us. At times I wonder if he has it from the literature of Bengal or
from religion, and at other times, remembering the birds alighting on
his brother’s hands, I find pleasure in thinking it hereditary, a
mystery that was growing through the centuries like the courtesy of a
Tristan or a Pelanore. Indeed, when he is speaking of children, so much
a part of himself this quality seems, one is not certain that he is not
also speaking of the saints, “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.”
W.B. YEATS
_September_ 1912.
GITANJALI
1.
Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou
emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.
This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and
hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.
2.
When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break with
pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.
All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet
harmony—and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight
across the sea.
I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a singer
I come before thy presence.
I touch by the edge of the far-spreading wing of my song thy feet which
I could never aspire to reach.
Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who
art my lord.
3.
I know not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silent
amazement.
The light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath of thy
music runs from sky to sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks through
all stony obstacles and rushes on.
My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for a voice. I
would speak, but speech breaks not into song, and I cry out baffled.
Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music,
my master!
4.
Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing that
thy living touch is upon all my limbs.
I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing
that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my
mind.
I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my love
in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my
heart.
And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it
is thy power gives me strength to act.
5.
I ask for a moment’s indulgence to sit by thy side. The works that I
have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite, and
my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering
grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.
6.
Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it droop
and drop into the dust.
I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch of
pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I am
aware, and the time of offering go by.
Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flower
in thy service and pluck it while there is time.
7.
My song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and
decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would come between thee
and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers.
My poet’s vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet, I have
sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight,
like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
8.
The child who is decked with prince’s robes and who has jewelled chains
round his neck loses all pleasure in his play; his dress hampers him at
every step.
In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust he keeps himself
from the world, and is afraid even to move.
Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keep one shut off
from the healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right of
entrance to the great fair of common human life.
9.
O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders! O beggar, to come
beg at thy own door!
Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all, and never look
behind in regret.
Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with its
breath. It is unholy—take not thy gifts through its unclean hands.
Accept only what is offered by sacred love.
10.
Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet where live the poorest,
and lowliest, and lost.
When I try to bow to thee, my obeisance cannot reach down to the depth
where thy feet rest among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes of the
humble among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.
My heart can never find its way to where thou keepest company with the
companionless among the poorest, the lowliest, and the lost.
11.
Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou
worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut?
Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!
He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the
pathmaker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower, and
his garment is covered with dust. Put of thy holy mantle and even like
him come down on the dusty soil!
Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found? Our master himself
has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation; he is bound with us
all for ever.
Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense!
What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained? Meet him
and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.
12.
The time that my journey takes is long and the way of it long.
I came out on the chariot of the first gleam of light, and pursued my
voyage through the wildernesses of worlds leaving my track on many a
star and planet.
It is the most distant course that comes nearest to thyself, and that
training is the most intricate which leads to the utter simplicity of a
tune.
The traveller has to knock at every alien door to come to his own, and
one has to wander through all the outer worlds to reach the innermost
shrine at the end.
My eyes strayed far and wide before I shut them and said “Here art
thou!”
The question and the cry “Oh, where?” melt into tears of a thousand
streams and deluge the world with the flood of the assurance “I am!”
13.
The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.
I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.
The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only
there is the agony of wishing in my heart.
The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.
I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I have
heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.
The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor; but the
lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.
I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet.
14.
My desires are many and my cry is pitiful, but ever didst thou save me
by hard refusals; and this strong mercy has been wrought into my life
through and through.
Day by day thou art making me worthy of the simple, great gifts that
thou gavest to me unasked—this sky and the light, this body and the
life and the mind—saving me from perils of overmuch desire.
There are times when I languidly linger and times when I awaken and
hurry in search of my goal; but cruelly thou hidest thyself from before
me.
Day by day thou art making me worthy of thy full acceptance by refusing
me ever and anon, saving me from perils of weak, uncertain desire.
15.
I am here to sing thee songs. In this hall of thine I have a corner
seat.
In thy world I have no work to do; my useless life can only break out
in tunes without a purpose.
When the hour strikes for thy silent worship at the dark temple of
midnight, command me, my master, to stand before thee to sing.
When in the morning air the golden harp is tuned, honour me, commanding
my presence.
16.
I have had my invitation to this world’s festival, and thus my life has
been blessed. My eyes have seen and my ears have heard.
It was my part at this feast to play upon my instrument, and I have
done all I could.
Now, I ask, has the time come at last when I may go in and see thy face
and offer thee my silent salutation?
17.
I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands.
That is why it is so late and why I have been guilty of such omissions.
They come with their laws and their codes to bind me fast; but I evade
them ever, for I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last
into his hands.
People blame me and call me heedless; I doubt not they are right in
their blame.
The market day is over and work is all done for the busy. Those who
came to call me in vain have gone back in anger. I am only waiting for
love to give myself up at last into his hands.
18.
Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens. Ah, love, why dost thou let me
wait outside at the door all alone?
In the busy moments of the noontide work I am with the crowd, but on
this dark lonely day it is only for thee that I hope.
If thou showest me not thy face, if thou leavest me wholly aside, I
know not how I am to pass these long, rainy hours.
I keep gazing on the far-away gloom of the sky, and my heart wanders
wailing with the restless wind.
19.
If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure
it. I will keep still and wait like the night with starry vigil and its
head bent low with patience.
The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish, and thy voice
pour down in golden streams breaking through the sky.
Then thy words will take wing in songs from every one of my birds’
nests, and thy melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest
groves.
20.
On the day when the lotus bloomed, alas, my mind was straying, and I
knew it not. My basket was empty and the flower remained unheeded.
Only now and again a sadness fell upon me, and I started up from my
dream and felt a sweet trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.
That vague sweetness made my heart ache with longing and it seemed to
me that is was the eager breath of the summer seeking for its
completion.
I knew not then that it was so near, that it was mine, and that this
perfect sweetness had blossomed in the depth of my own heart.