(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941 / Calcutta (Kolkata), Bengal Presidency / British India)

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Little Flute

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail
vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,
and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in
joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.
Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004


Read poems about / on: birth, joy, heart, lost

Comments about this poem (Little Flute by Rabindranath Tagore )

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  • Mohan Parmeswaran (7/19/2007 5:32:00 PM)

    The poet is connected to the source and origin and is conduit for divine love, which is never exhausting and ever nourishing..

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