Learn More

Rabindranath Tagore

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

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

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

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

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (Little Flute by Rabindranath Tagore )

Enter the verification code :

  • Rookie 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.. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

Trending Poets

Trending Poems

  1. Daffodils, William Wordsworth
  2. Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
  3. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
  4. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  5. Invictus, William Ernest Henley
  6. I Am the Only Being Whose Doom, Emily Jane Brontë
  7. Kupamanduka, Gopalakrishna Adiga
  8. An Africa Thunderstorm, David Rubadiri
  9. A Moment Of Happiness, Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
  10. A Late Walk, Robert Frost

Poem of the Day

poet Emily Jane Brontë

I am the only being whose doom
No tongue would ask no eye would mourn
I never caused a thought of gloom
A smile of joy since I was born

In secret pleasure - secret tears
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]