The Gardener Quotes

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The Gardener The Gardener by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Gardener Quotes Showing 1-30 of 34
“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.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
tags: love
“Dreams can never be made captive.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“From my heart comes out and dances the image of my own desire. The gleaming vision flits on. I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray. I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Who are you, reader, reading my poems a hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.
Open your doors and look abroad.
From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before.
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across an hundred years.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies. But
sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your
eyes.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“When you have finished with others, that is my time.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Why did the flower fade? I pressed it to my heart with anxious love, that is why the flower faded.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“I run as a musk-deer runs in the shadow of the forest mad with his own perfume.
The night is the night of mid-May, the breeze is the breeze of the south.
I lose my way and I wander, I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek.

From my heart comes out and dances the image of my own desire. The gleaming vision flits on.
I try to clasp it firmly, it eludes me and leads me astray. I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Is it true, is it true, that your love travelled alone through
ages and worlds in search of me?”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Con biết chàng sẽ chẳng nhặt chuỗi hạt con ném xuống; con biết chuỗi hạt sẽ bị bánh xe chàng nghiến nát, để lại vết đỏ trên đường đất bụi; rồi chẳng ai hay vật con hiến dâng là gì và cũng chẳng ai biết con dâng hiến cho ai.

Thế nhưng, Hoàng tử trẻ tuổi năm ấy đã từng đi ngang cửa nhà ta; con cũng đã từng đem châu báu đẹp đẽ nhất đeo trước ngực ném xuống lối chàng qua.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Hands cling to hands and eyes linger on eyes: thus begins the record of our hearts. It is the moonlit night of March; the sweet smell of henna is in the air; my flute lies on the earth neglected and your garland of flowers in unfinished. This love between you and me is simple as a song. Your veil of the saffron colour makes my eyes drunk. The jasmine wreath that you wove me thrills to my heart like praise. It is a game of giving and withholding, revealing and screening again; some smiles and some little shyness, and some sweet useless struggles. This love between you and me is simple as a song. No mystery beyond the present; no striving for the impossible; no shadow behind the charm; no groping in the depth of the dark. This love between you and me is simple as a song. We do not stray out of all words into the ever silent; we do not raise our hands to the void for things beyond hope. It is enough what we give and we get. We have not crushed the joy to the utmost to wring from it the wine of pain. This love between you and me is simple as a song.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet. Let it not be a 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.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“The Gardener: 41"

I long to speak the deepest words I have to say to you; but I
dare not, for fear you should laugh.
That is why I laugh at myself and shatter my secret in jest.
I make light of my pain, afraid you should do so.

I long to tell you the truest words I have to say to you; but I
dare not, being afraid that you would not believe them.
That is why I disguise them in untruth, saying the contrary of
what I mean.
I make my pain appear absurd, afraid that you should do so.

I long to use the most precious words I have for you; but I dare
not, fearing I should not be paid with like value.
That is why I gave you hard names and boast of my callous
strength.
I hurt you, for fear you should never know any pain.

I long to sit silent by you; but I dare not lest my heart come
out at my lips.
That is why I prattle and chatter lightly and hide my heart
behind words.
I rudely handle my pain, for fear you should do so.

I long to go away from your side; but I dare not, for fear my
cowardice should become known to you.
That is why I hold my head high and carelessly come into your
presence.
Constant thrusts from your eyes keep my pain fresh for ever.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“58 One morning in the flower garden a blind girl came to offer me a flower chain in the cover of a lotus leaf. I put it round my neck, and tears came to my eyes. I kissed her and said, "You are blind even as the flowers are. You yourself know not how beautiful is your gift.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“never be taught." The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands." Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing. Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other. They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my love!" The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage." The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine takes shape in the blue of the sky!”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Your lips are bitter-sweet with the taste of my wine of pain.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“At midnight the would-be ascetic announced: "This is the time to give up my home and seek for God. Ah, who has held me so long in delusion here?" God whispered, "I," but the ears of the man were stopped. With a baby asleep at her breast lay his wife, peacefully sleeping on one side of the bed. The man said, "Who are ye that have fooled me so long?" The voice said again, "They are God," but he heard it not. The baby cried out in its dream, nestling close to its mother. God commanded, "Stop, fool, leave not thy home," but still he heard not. God sighed and complained, "Why does my servant wander to seek me, forsaking me?”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“If you would be busy and fill your pitcher, come, O come to my lake.
The water will cling round your feet and babble its secret. The shadow of the coming rain is on the sands, and the clouds hang low upon the blue lines of the trees like the heavy hair above your eyebrows.
I know well the rhythm of your steps, they are beating in my heart.
Come, O come to my lake, if you must fill your pitcher.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“When I go alone at night"

When I go alone at night to my
love-tryst, birds do not sing, the wind
does not stir, the houses on both sides
of the street stand silent.
It is my own anklets that grow loud
at every step and I am ashamed.
When I sit on my balcony and listen
for his footsteps, leaves do not rustle
on the trees, and the water is still in
the river like the sword on the knees
of a sentry fallen asleep.
It is my own heart that beats wildly
--I do not know how to quiet it.
When my love comes and sits by
my side, when my body trembles and
my eyelids droop, the night darkens,
the wind blows out the lamp, and the
clouds draw veils over the stars.
It is the jewel at my own breast
that shines and gives light. I do not
know how to hide it.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Hands cling to hands and eyes linger on eyes: thus begins the
record of our hearts.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Why did the lamp go out? I shaded it with my cloak to save it from the wind, that is why the lamp went out. Why did the flower fade? I pressed it to my heart with anxious love, that is why the flower faded. Why did the stream dry up? I put a dam across it to have it for my use, that is why the stream dried up. Why did the harp-string break? I tried to force a note that was beyond its power, that is why the harp-string is broken.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“O woman, you are not merely the handiwork of God, but also of men; these are ever endowing you with beauty from their hearts. Poets are weaving for you a web with threads of golden imagery; painters are giving your form ever new immortality. The sea gives its pearls, the mines their gold, the summer gardens their flowers to deck you, to cover you, to make you more precious. The desire of men's hearts has shed its glory over your youth. You are one half woman and one half dream.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“No puedo hallar descanso; soy un extraño para mi propio corazón.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
tags: poetry
“Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a 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.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Beauty is sweet to us, because she dances to the same fleeting
tune with our lives.
Knowledge is precious to us, because we shall never have time to
complete it.
All is done and finished in the eternal Heaven.
But earth's flowers of illusion are kept eternally fresh by
death.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Beauty is sweet to us, because she dances to the same fleeting tune with our lives. Knowledge is precious to us, because we shall never have time to complete it. All is done and finished in the eternal Heaven. But earth's flowers of illusion are kept eternally fresh by death.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“It was mid-day when you went away. The sun was strong in the sky. I had done my work and sat alone on my balcony when you went away. Fitful gusts came winnowing through the smells of many distant fields. The doves cooed tireless in the shade, and a bee strayed in my room humming the news of many distant fields. The village slept in the noonday heat. The road lay deserted. In sudden fits the rustling of the leaves rose and died. I glazed at the sky and wove in the blue the letters of a name I had known, while the village slept in the noonday heat. I had forgotten to braid my hair. The languid breeze played with it upon my cheek. The river ran unruffled under the shady bank. The lazy white clouds did not move. I had forgotten to braid my hair. It was mid-day when you went away. The dust of the road was hot and the fields panting. The doves cooed among the dense leaves. I was alone in my balcony when you went away.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“Aednik
Su pärivad silmad on kurvad. Nad taotavad mõista mu meelt, nagu kuu tahaks põhjani mõõta merd. Olen paljastanud oma elu su silmade ees otsast otsani, peitmata midagi või takistamata. Just sellepärast sina ei tunne mind. Kui see oleks vaid kalliskivi, võiksin ta murda sajaks tükiks ja lükkida need keeks, et panna su kaela ümber. Kui see oleks vaid lill, ümar ja väike ja magus, võiksin noppida ta varrelt, et seada ta su juustesse. Aga see on süda, mu armsaim. Kus on ta kaldad ja ta põhi? Sa ei tunne selle kuningriigi piire, ometi oled tema kuningatar. Kui see oleks vaid viivuks lõbu, ta õilmitseks kergeks naeratuseks ja sa võiksid näha teda ja mõistatada ära ta ühe viivuga. Kui see oleks paljalt valu, ta sulaks läbipaistvaiks pisaraiks, peegeldades oma sisimat saladust ilma ühegi sõnata. Aga see on armastus, mu armsaim. Ta lõbu ja valu on piiritud ja otsatud ta vaegus ja küllus. Ta on nii ligi sulle nagu su elu, aga sa ei suuda iialgi teda tunda täiesti.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener
“20
Día tras día él llega y se va.
Ve y dale esta flor de mi pelo, amigo.
Si te pregunta quién se la envía, no se lo digas, te lo ruego, pues si viene, es para volverse a ir.
Está sentado bajo un árbol, en el suelo.
Prepárale un lecho de pétalos y hojas, amigo.
Sus ojos están tristes y su mirada pesa en mi corazón.
Nunca dice qué piensa, sólo viene y se va.”
Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener

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