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Gitanjali: A Collection of Indian Poems by the Nobel Laureate [Paperback]

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  • Category: Books (Poetry)
  • Author:  Tagore, Rabindranath
  • Author:  Tagore, Rabindranath
  • ISBN-10:  0684839342
  • ISBN-10:  0684839342
  • ISBN-13:  9780684839349
  • ISBN-13:  9780684839349
  • Publisher:  Scribner
  • Publisher:  Scribner
  • Pages:  128
  • Pages:  128
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Binding:  Paperback
  • Pub Date:  01-Dec-1997
  • Pub Date:  01-Dec-1997
  • SKU:  0684839342-11-MING
  • SKU:  0684839342-11-MING
  • Item ID: 100402447
  • List Price: $16.00
  • Seller: ShopSpell
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  • Delivery by: Nov 27 to Nov 29
  • Notes: Brand New Book. Order Now.

An illuminating collection of inspirational poems by a Nobel Laureate

While traveling through one of the poorest regions in India, W. B. Yeats was amazed to discover the women in the tea fields singing the songs and poems of Rabindranath Tagore. This striking scene led the great Irish poet to appreciate the depth of India's far-reaching tradition of poetry and the fame of this one Indian poet. Tagore's work is without equal and plays an eminent role in twentieth century Indian literature.
The publication of the English edition ofGitanjaliin 1911 earned Rabindranath Tagore the Nobel Prize in literature. A collection of over one hundred inspirational poems,Gitanjalicovers the breadth of life's experiences, from the quiet pleasure of observing children at play to a man's struggle with his god. These are poems that transcend time and place.Chapter 1

1

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

2

When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.

All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet harmony -- and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its flight across the sea.

I know thou takest pleasure in my singing. I know that only as a singer I come before thy presence.

I touch by the edge of the far spreading wing of my song thy feet which I could never aspire to reach.

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