Gitanjali — Song 66
Gitanjali — Song 66
Rabindranath Tagore
She who ever had remained in the depth of my being, in the twilight of
gleams and of glimpses; she who never opened her veils in the morning
light, will be my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my final song.
Words have wooed yet failed to win her; persuasion has stretched to her
its eager arms in vain.
I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my
heart, and around her have risen and fallen the growth and decay of my
life.
Over my thoughts and actions, my slumbers and dreams, she reigned yet
dwelled alone and apart.
Many a man knocked at my door and asked for her and turned away in
despair.
There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face, and she
remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition.
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
Read the original source ↗
