The Beautiful Poems from Gitanjali

Rabindranath Tagore, was an Indian poet, philosopher, and Nobel laureate. He was born in Calcutta, into a rich family, the son of the philosopher Debendranath Tagore. He began to write poetry as a child; his first book emerges when he was 17 years old. After a brief stay in England to study law, he returned to India, where he rapidly became the most important and popular author of the regal era, writing poetry, short stories, novels, and plays. He was awarded the 1913 Nobel Prize in literature.

Gitanjali is  a composed works of over hundred poems, full of life, full of encouragement and full of insights. Gitanjali speaks of life, from birth  to the death, the life and man’s quest for answers from God. Be it song or rain, nature or god, each poems show the ease of feelings. In this post, we have published few of the most beautiful poems from Gitanjali.

Mind Without Fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;

Where knowledge is free;

Where the world has not been broken up

into fragments by narrow domestic walls;

Where words come out from the depth of truth;

Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;

Where the clear stream of reason

has not lost its way into the dreary desert sand of dead habit;

Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought and action---

Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

Purity

Life of my life, I shall ever try to keep my body pure, knowing

that thy loving touch is upon all my limbs.

I shall ever try to keep all untruths out from my thoughts, knowing

that thou art that truth which has kindled the light of reason in my mind.

I shall ever try to drive all evils away from my heart and keep my

love in flower, knowing that thou hast thy seat in the inmost shrine of my heart.

And it shall be my endeavour to reveal thee in my actions, knowing it

is thy power gives me strength to act.

Song Unsung

The song that I came to sing remains unsung to this day.

I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set;

only there is the agony of wishing in my heart.

The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.

I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice;

only I have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.

The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor;

but the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.

I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet.

Friend

Art thou abroad on this stormy night

on thy journey of love, my friend?

The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight.

Ever and again I open my door and look out on

the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me.

I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river,

by what far edge of the frowning forest,

through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading

thy course to come to me, my friend?

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