The Gardener 38
My love, once upon a time your poet launched a great epic in his mind.Alas, I was not careful, and it struck your ringing anklets and came to grief.It broke up into scraps of songs and lay scattered at your feet.All my cargo of the stories of old wars was tossed by the laughingwaves and soaked in tears and sank.You must make this loss good to me, my love.If my claims to immortal fame after death are shattered, make meimmortal while I live.And I will not mourn for my loss nor blame you.
Words in this poem
- broke v. i.
- To transact business for another. Brome. [See Broker, and cf. Brook.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Gardener 38 is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Gardener, translated by the author from the original Bengali (Macmillan, London and New York, 1913; this text the 1915 printing), Project Gutenberg ebook #6686; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Rabindranath Tagore, The Gardener 38, in The Gardener (1913), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #6686, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/tagore-gardener/poem-38.html, id L27674.
About this section
The Gardener 38 is prose, printed in 1 paragraph. It is part of the edition and is kept for reading, but nothing here is measured: the line breaks are the printer's, so no metre, rhyme scheme or scansion is stated.
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