I drive down into the depth of the ocean of
forms, hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.
No more sailing from harbour to harbour
with this my weather-beaten boat.
The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves.
And now I am eager to die into the deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss where swells up the music of toneless
strings I shall take this harp of my life.
I shall tune it to the notes of forever,
and, when it has sobbed out its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at
the feet of the silent.
forms, hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.
No more sailing from harbour to harbour
with this my weather-beaten boat.
The days are long passed when my sport was to be tossed on waves.
And now I am eager to die into the deathless.
Into the audience hall by the fathomless abyss where swells up the music of toneless
strings I shall take this harp of my life.
I shall tune it to the notes of forever,
and, when it has sobbed out its last utterance, lay down my silent harp at
the feet of the silent.
-Gitanjali, translated from original Bengali by Tagore
Gitanjali (excerpt) PDF
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