Complete Works. Rabindranath Tagore

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      The world is yours at once and for ever.

      And because you have no want, my king, you have no pleasure in your wealth.

      It is as though it were naught. Therefore through slow time you give me what is yours, and ceaselessly win your kingdom in me.

      Day after day you buy your sunrise from my heart, and you find your love carven into the image of my life.

LXXVIII

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      To the birds you gave songs, the birds gave you songs in return.

      You gave me only voice, yet asked for more, and I sing.

      You made your winds light and they are fleet in their service. You burdened my hands that I myself may lighten them, and at last, gain unburdened freedom for your service.

      You created your Earth filling its shadows with fragments of light.

      There you paused; you left me empty-handed in the dust to create your heaven.

      To all things else you give; from me you ask.

      The harvest of my life ripens in the sun and the shower till I reap more than you sowed, gladdening your heart, O Master of the golden granary.

LXXIX

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      Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them.

      Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it.

      Let me not look for allies in life's battlefield but to my own strength.

      Let me not crave in anxious fear to be saved but hope for the patience to win my freedom.

      Grant me that I may not be a coward, feeling your mercy in my success alone; but let me find the grasp of your hand in my failure.

LXXX

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      You did not know yourself when you dwelt alone, and there was no crying of an errand when the wind ran from the hither to the farther shore.

      I came and you woke, and the skies blossomed with lights.

      You made me open in many flowers; rocked me in the cradles of many forms; hid me in death and found me again in life.

      I came and your heart heaved; pain came to you and joy.

      You touched me and tingled into love.

      But in my eyes there is a film of shame and in my breast a flicker of fear; my face is veiled and I weep when I cannot see you.

      Yet I know the endless thirst in your heart for sight of me, the thirst that cries at my door in the repeated knockings of sunrise.

LXXXI

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      You, in your timeless watch, listen to my approaching steps while your gladness gathers in the morning twilight and breaks in the burst of light.

      The nearer I draw to you the deeper grows the fervour in the dance of the sea.

      Your world is a branching spray of light filling your hands, but your heaven is in my secret heart; it slowly opens its buds in shy love.

LXXXII

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      I will utter your name, sitting alone among the shadows of my silent thoughts.

      I will utter it without words, I will utter it without purpose.

      For I am like a child that calls its mother an hundred times, glad that it can say "Mother."

LXXXIII

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      I

      I feel that all the stars shine in me. The world breaks into my life like a flood.

      The flowers blossom in my body. All the youthfulness of land and water smokes like an incense in my heart; and the breath of all things plays on my thoughts as on a flute.

      II

      When the world sleeps I come to your door.

      The stars are silent, and I am afraid to sing.

      I wait and watch, till your shadow passes by the balcony of night and I return with a full heart.

      Then in the morning I sing by the roadside;

      The flowers in the hedge give me answer and the morning air listens,

      The travellers suddenly stop and look in my face, thinking I have called them by their names.

      III

      Keep me at your door ever attending to your wishes, and let me go about in your Kingdom accepting your call.

      Let me not sink and disappear in the depth of languor.

      Let not my life be worn out to tatters by penury of waste.

      Let not those doubts encompass me,—the dust of distractions.

      Let me not pursue many paths to gather many things.

      Let me not bend my heart to the yoke of the many.

      Let me hold my head high in the courage and pride of being your servant.

LXXXIV: THE OARSMEN

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      Do you hear the tumult of death afar,

       The call midst the fire-floods and poisonous clouds

       —The Captain's call to the steersman to turn the ship to an

       unnamed shore,

       For that time is over—the stagnant time in the port—

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