The Gardener 81
Why do you whisper so faintly in my ears, O Death, my Death?When the flowers droop in the evening and cattle come back totheir stalls, you stealthily come to my side and speak words thatI do not understand.Is this how you must woo and win me with the opiate of drowsymurmur and cold kisses, O Death, my Death?
Will there be no proud ceremony for our wedding?Will you not tie up with a wreath your tawny coiled locks?Is there none to carry your banner before you, and will not thenight be on fire with your red torch-lights, O Death, my Death?
Come with your conch-shells sounding, come in the sleepless night.Dress me with a crimson mantle, grasp my hand and take me.Let your chariot be ready at my door with your horses neighing impatiently.Raise my veil and look at my face proudly, O Death, my Death!
Words in this poem
- opiate n.
- Originally, a medicine of a thicker consistence than sirup, prepared with opium. Parr. [From Opium: cf.F. opiat.]
- sleepless a.
- Having no sleep; wakeful.
- impatiently adv.
- In an impatient manner.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
The Gardener 81 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 81, in The Gardener (1913), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #6686, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/tagore-gardener/poem-81.html, id L27717.
About this section
The Gardener 81 is prose, printed in 3 paragraphs. 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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