Rabindranath Tagore (7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941 / Calcutta (Kolkata), Bengal Presidency / British India)
The Gardener XLVI: You Left Me
You left me and went on your way.
I thought I should mourn for you
and set your solitary image in my
heart wrought in a golden song.
But ah, my evil fortune, time is
Youth wanes year after year; the
spring days are fugitive; the frail
flowers die for nothing, and the wise
man warns me that life is but a
dewdrop on the lotus leaf.
Should I neglect all this to gaze after
one who has turned her back on me?
That would be rude and foolish,
for time is short.
Then, come, my rainy nights with
pattering feet; smile, my golden
autumn; come, careless April, scatter-
ing your kisses abroad.
You come, and you, and you also!
My loves, you know we are mortals.
Is it wise to break one's heart for the
one who takes her heart away? For
time is short.
It is sweet to sit in a corner to muse
and write in rhymes that you are all
It is heroic to hug one's sorrow and
determine not to be consoled.
But a fresh face peeps across my
door and raise its eyes to my eyes.
I cannot but wipe away my tears
and change the tune of my song.
For time is short.
Comments about this poem (The Gardener XLVI: You Left Me by Rabindranath Tagore )
People who read Rabindranath Tagore also read
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings