Page:Works of Tagore from the Modern Review, 1909-24 Segment 1.pdf/192

The man says, "I am strong, I do whatever I wish."
"Oh what a shame!" says the woman with a blush.
"Thou art restrained at every step", says the man.
The poet says, "that is why the woman is so beautiful."

"All my perfume goes out, I cannot keep it shut."
Thus murmurs the flower and beckons back its breath.
The breeze whispers gently, "You must ever remember this—
It is not your perfume at all which is not given out to others."

The water in the pitcher is bright and transparent;
But the ocean is dark and deep.
The little truths have words that are clear;
The great truth is greatly obscure and silent.

A little flower blooms in the chink of a garden wall.
She has no name nor fame.
The garden worthies disdain to give her a glance.
The sun comes up and greets her, "How is my little beauty?"

Love comes smiling with empty hands.
Flattery asks him, "What wealth didst thou win?"
Love says, "I cannot show it, it is in my heart."
Flattery says, "I am practical. What I get I gather in both hands."

"Who will take up my work?" Asks the setting sun.
None has an answer in the whole silent world.
The earthen lamp says humbly from a corner,
"I will, my lord, as best as I can."

The arrow thinks to himself, "I fly, I am free,
Only the bow is motionless and fixed."
The bow divines his mind and says, "When wilt thou know the truth
That thy freedom is ever dependent on me?"

The moon gives light to the whole creation,
But keeps the dark spot only to herself.

"Restless ocean, what endless speech is thine?"
"It is the question eternal," answered the sea.
"What is there in thy stillness, thou ancient line of hills?"
"It is the silence everlasting," came the answer.

In the morn the moon is to lose her sovereignty,
Yet there is smile on her face when she says,
"I wait at the edge of the western sea
To greet the rising sun, bow low, and then depart."

The word says, "When I notice thee, O work,
I am ashamed of my own little emptiness."
The work says, "I feel how utterly poor I am;
I never can attain the fulness which thou hast."

If you at night shed tears for the lost daylight
You get not back the sun but miss all the stars instead.