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Tagore's Geetanjali

  1. Geetanjali 1
  2. Geetanjali 2
  3. Geetanjali 3
  4. Geetanjali 4
  5. Geetanjali 5
  6. Geetanjali 6
  7. Geetanjali 7
  8. Geetanjali 8
  9. Geetanjali 9
  10. Geetanjali 10
  11. Geetanjali 11
  12. Geetanjali 12
  13. Geetanjali 13
  14. Geetanjali 14
  15. Geetanjali 15
  16. Geetanjali 16
  17. Geetanjali 17
  18. Geetanjali 18
     
  19. Geetanjali 19
  20. Geetanjali 20
  21. Geetanjali 21
  22. Geetanjali 22
  23. Geetanjali 23
  24. Geetanjali 24
  25. Geetanjali 25
  26. Geetanjali 26
  27. Geetanjali 27
  28. Geetanjali 28
  29. Geetanjali 29
  30. Geetanjali 30
  31. Geetanjali 31
  32. Geetanjali 32
  33. Geetanjali 33
  34. Geetanjali 34
  35. Geetanjali 35
  36. Osho on Tagore
  37. Yeat on Gitanjali
 		 Song 73

Deliverance is not for me in renunciation.
I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight.

Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various colours
and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim.

My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame
and place them before the altar of thy temple.

No, I will never shut the doors of my senses.
The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.

Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy,
and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.

Song 74

The day is no more, the shadow is upon the earth. It is time that I go to the stream to fill my pitcher.

The evening air is eager with the sad music of the water.
Ah, it calls me out into the dusk.
In the lonely lane there is no passer-by,
the wind is up, the ripples are rampant in the river.

I know not if I shall come back home. I know not whom I shall chance to meet. There at the fording in the little boat the unknown man plays upon his lute.

 Song 75

Thy gifts to us mortals fulfil all our needs
and yet run back to thee undiminished.

The river has its everyday work to do and hastens through fields and hamlets;
yet its incessant stream winds towards the washing of thy feet.

The flower sweetens the air with its perfume;
yet its last service is to offer itself to thee.

Thy worship does not impoverish the world.

From the words of the poet men take what meanings please them;
yet their last meaning points to thee.