"Wading neck deep in a swamp, your revolver is neither use nor ornament until you have had time to clean it" Mary H. Kingsley (1897)

Posts tagged “Rabindranath Tagore

Lux Redux

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A detail from yesterday’s image re-examined

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“Sorrow is hushed into peace in my heart like the evening among the silent trees.”
From Rabindranath Tagore’s Stray Birds: verse 10.

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The quotation was suggested by S Etole at Just… a moment
This is the original image


Discarded Dreams

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Life is a stream

On which we strew

Petal by petal the flower of our heart;

The end lost in dream,

They float past our view,

We only watch their glad, early start.

Freighted with hope,

Crimsoned with joy,

We scatter the leaves of our opening rose;

Their widening scope,

Their distant employ,

We never shall know. And the stream as it flows

Sweeps them away,

Each one is gone

Ever beyond into infinite ways.

We alone stay

While years hurry on,

The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

Petals by Amy Lowell

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“By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.”

Rabindranath Tagore

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“For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it.”

Ivan Panin

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Abandoned

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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

short.

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

my world.

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.

The Gardener XLVI: You Left Me by Rabindranath Tagore

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“The essence of optimism is that it takes no account of the present, but it is a source of inspiration, of vitality and hope where others have resigned; it enables a man to hold his head high, to claim the future for himself and not to abandon it to his enemy.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer

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