Rabindranath Tagore
Rabindranath Tagore
Rabindranath Tagore FRAS, also written Ravīndranātha Thākura, sobriquet Gurudev, was a Bengali polymath who reshaped Bengali literature and music, as well as Indian art with Contextual Modernism in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Author of Gitanjali and its "profoundly sensitive, fresh and beautiful verse", he became the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913. In translation his poetry was viewed as spiritual and mercurial; however, his "elegant prose and magical poetry" remain largely unknown...
NationalityIndian
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth7 May 1861
CityKolkata, India
CountryIndia
I have spent many days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung.
Let it not be death but completeness. Let love melt into memory and pain into songs. Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest. Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night. Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence. I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.
My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes. They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the stars. My songs are lost in their depths. Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity. Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine.
The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original.
The greed for fruit misses the flower.
Today I feel that I shall win through. I have come to the gateway of the simple; I am now content to see things as they are. I have gained freedom myself; I shall allow freedom to others. In my work will be my salvation.
Come oh come ye tea-thirsty restless ones -- the kettle boils, bubbles and sings, musically.
Some day I shall sing to thee in the sunrise of some other world, I have seen thee before in the light of the earth, in the love of man.
for we women are not only the deities of the household fire, but the flame of the soul itself.
I am willing to serve my country, but my worship I reserve for Right which is far greater than my country. To worship my country as a god is to bring a curse upon it.
Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music, my master!
At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.
The speech of my heart will be carried on in murmurings of a song.
When you have once taken up a responsibility, you must see it through.