File:Gitanjali and Fruit-gathering (1918) (14781204504).jpg

Identifier: gitanjalifruitga00tago (find matches)
Title: Gitanjali and Fruit-gathering
Year: 1918 (1910s)
Authors: Tagore, Rabindranath, 1861-1941 Yeats, W. B. (William Butler), 1865-1939 Tagore, Abanindranath, 1871-1951, illus Basu, Nandalala, 1883-1966
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Publisher: New York, The Macmillan Company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: Sloan Foundation

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our feet — and I sat silent. 194 FRUIT-GATHERING LXIX You were in the centre of my heart, therefore when my heart wandered shenever found you; you hid yourself from my loves and hopes till the last, for you were always in them. You were the in most joy in the play of my youth, and when I was too busy with the play the joy was passed by. You sang to me in the ecstasies of my life and I forgot to sing to you. FRUIT-GATHERING 195 LXX When you hold your lamp in the sky it throws its light on my face and its shadow falls over you. When I hold the lamp of love in my heart its light falls on you and I am left standing behind in the shadow. 196 FRUIT-GATHERING LXXI O THE waves, the sky-devouring waves, glistening with light, dancing with life, the waves of eddying joy, rushing forever. The stars rock upon them, thoughts of every tint are cast up out of the deep and scattered on the beach of life. Birth and death rise and fall with their rhythm, and the sea-gull of my heart spreads its wings crying in delight.
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Painted by Nandalal Bose O, the Waves, the Sky-devouring Waves! FRUIT-GATHERING 197 LXXII The joy ran from all the world to build my body. The lights of the skies kissed and kissed her till she woke. Flowers of hurrying summers sighed in her breath and voices of winds and water sang in her movements. The passion of the tide of colours in clouds and in forests flowed into her life, and the music of all things caressed her limbs into shape. She is my bride, — she has lighted her lamp in my house. 198 FRUIT-GATHERING LXXIII The spring with its leaves and flowers has come into my body. The bees hum there the morning long, and the winds idly play with the shadows. A sweet fountain springs up from the heart of my heart. My eyes are washed with delight like the dew-bathed morning, and life is quivering in all my limbs like the sounding strings of the lute. Are you wandering alone by the shore of my life, where the tide is in flood, O lover of my endless days? Are my dreams flitting round you like the moths wit

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