Gitanjali — Song 64
Gitanjali — Song 64
Rabindranath Tagore
On the slope of the desolate river among tall grasses I asked her,
“Maiden, where do you go shading your lamp with your mantle? My house
is all dark and lonesome—lend me your light!” she raised her dark eyes
for a moment and looked at my face through the dusk. “I have come to
the river,” she said, “to float my lamp on the stream when the daylight
wanes in the west.” I stood alone among tall grasses and watched the
timid flame of her lamp uselessly drifting in the tide.
In the silence of gathering night I asked her, “Maiden, your lights are
all lit—then where do you go with your lamp? My house is all dark and
lonesome—lend me your light.” She raised her dark eyes on my face and
stood for a moment doubtful. “I have come,” she said at last, “to
dedicate my lamp to the sky.” I stood and watched her light uselessly
burning in the void.
In the moonless gloom of midnight I ask her, “Maiden, what is your
quest, holding the lamp near your heart? My house is all dark and
lonesome—lend me your light.” She stopped for a minute and thought and
gazed at my face in the dark. “I have brought my light,” she said, “to
join the carnival of lamps.” I stood and watched her little lamp
uselessly lost among lights.
Verse breaks and indentation are preserved. Wrapped lines have a hanging indent. Width adapts to your screen.
Complete 103-poem English Gitanjali, translated by the author and published in 1912. · Translated by Rabindranath Tagore
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