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
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Lost Time by Rabindranath Tagore )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Midway, Nassy Fesharaki
- Grapping, grabbing!, Edward Kofi Louis
- The Painter of the Night, James Tate
- Nothing to find, gajanan mishra
- Apples!, Edward Kofi Louis
- A Trip, SALINI NAIR
- Inside a family, SALINI NAIR
- Like Crocodiles, Edward Kofi Louis
- The New Chinese Fiction, James Tate
- All that energy..., Dieter Ian Maree