On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time.
But it is never lost, my lord.
Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.
Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts,
buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.
I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed
and imagined all work had ceased.
In the morning I woke up
and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.
Rabindranath Tagore's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Lost Time by Rabindranath Tagore )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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(18 September 1906 - 18 September 1995)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Harivansh Rai Bachchan
(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
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