Gitanjali 82
Time is endless in thy hands, my lord. There is none to count thyminutes.
Days and nights pass and ages bloom and fade like flowers. Thou knowesthow to wait.
Thy centuries follow each other perfecting a small wild flower.
We have no time to lose, and having no time we must scramble for achances. We are too poor to be late.
And thus it is that time goes by while I give it to every querulous manwho claims it, and thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last.
At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate to be shut; but Ifind that yet there is time.
Words in this poem
- querulous a.
- Given to quarreling; quarrelsome. land. [L. querulus and querulosus, fr. queri to complain. Cf. Cry, v., Quarrel a brawl, Quarrelous.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Gitanjali 82 is in the public domain. This text is taken from Gitanjali (Song Offerings), a collection of prose translations made by the author from the original Bengali, with an introduction by W. B. Yeats (India Society, London, 1912), Project Gutenberg ebook #7164; 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, Gitanjali 82, in Gitanjali (Song Offerings) (1912), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #7164, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/tagore-gitanjali/poem-82.html, id L27944.
About this section
Gitanjali 82 is prose, printed in 6 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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