Rabindranath Tagore

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

The Gardener Xliii: No, My Friends - Poem by Rabindranath Tagore

No, my friends, I shall never be an
ascetic, whatever you may say.
I shall never be and ascetic if she
does not take the vow with me.
It is my firm resolve that if I
cannot find a shady shelter and a
companion for my penance, I shall
never turn ascetic.
No, my friends, I shall never leave
my hearth and home, and retire into
the forest solitude, if rings no merry
laughter in its echoing shade and if
the end of no saffron mantle flutters
in the wind; if its silence is not
deepened by soft whispers.
I shall never be an ascetic.

Comments about The Gardener Xliii: No, My Friends by Rabindranath Tagore

  • (3/14/2008 11:09:00 PM)

    I am searching for a poem by R Tagore about, roughly, where did baby's eyes, or babies ears, etc. come from? The answers refer to a young woman's youth, walking in the garden, something, something. The poem was on a meal tray served in the hospital when I birthed my son in 1984. I lost my copy of it, but loved it so and ever since have enjoyed the poetry of Rabindranath Tagore. If someone knows of this poem to which I refer, please let me know at imasperling@hotmail.com. Thanks. (Report) Reply

    Mohammed Asim Nehal Mohammed Asim Nehal (2/20/2016 2:18:00 AM)


    THE sleep that flits on baby's eyes- does anybody know from where it comes?
    Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where,
    in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms,
    there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there it comes to kiss baby's eyes.
    The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps- does anybody know where it was born?
    Yes, there is a rumour that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning- the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps.

    The sweet, soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs- does anybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes, when the mother was a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent mystery of love- the sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed on baby's limbs.

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Read poems about / on: solitude, laughter, silence, home, wind, friend

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

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