Re: 永远的泰戈尔 | Nov 04 2007- ɡ Stray Bird
̩
֣ 롡
ķɵҵĴǰ裬ַȥˡ
ĻҶûʲôɳֻ̾Ϣһ
Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away.
And yellow leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall
there with a sign.
ϵһССƯѽǵӡҵ
O Troupe of little vagrants of the world, leave your footprints in my words.
İˣƺ߽ˡ
СˣСһ裬СһĽǡ
The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover.
It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal.
Ǵص㣬ʹЦഺл
It is the tears of the earth that keep here smiles in bloom.
ɳĮһҶ̲ݵİҡҡͷЦŷɿˡ
The mighty desert is burning for the love of a bladeof grass who
shakes her head and laughs and flies away.
ʧȥ̫ᣬôҲʧȥȺˡ
If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars.
ŵˮѽ;еɳҪĸءЮ
ȳɳô
The sands in your way beg for your song and your movement, dancing
water. Will you carry the burden of their lameness?
еҹƵģҵλꡣ
Her wishful face haunts my dreams like the rain at night.
һΣμҶDzʶġ
ˣȴ֪ԭమġ
Once we dreamt that we were strangers.
We wake up to find that we were dear to each other.
˼ҵƽȥĺɫڼžɽС
Sorrow is hushed into peace in my heart like the evening among
the silent trees.
Щ֣˼ģҵš
뼣
Some unseen fingers, like an idle breeze, are playing upon my heart
the music of the ripples.
ˮѽ˵ʲô
ʡ
ѽشĻʲô
ijĬ
What language is thine, O sea?
The language of eternal question.
What language is thy answer, O sky?
The language of eternal silence.
ҵѽĵıʾѽ
Listen, my heart, to the whispers of the world with which it makes
love to you.
أҹĺڰΰġ֪ʶĻӰȴ糿
֮
The mystery of creation is like the darkness of night--it is great.
Delusions of knowledge are like the fog of the morning.
ҪΪͱǸߵģİͱϡ
Do not seat your love upon a precipice because it is high.
ҽڴǰһ·Ƶģͣһᣬҵͷ߹
ȥˡ
I sit at my window this morning where the world like a passer-by stops
for a moment, nods to me and goes.
Щ˼Ҷ֮ѽҵﻶõš
There little thoughts are the rustle of leaves; they have their
whisper of joy in my mind.
㿴ԼֻӰӡ
What you are you do not see, what you see is your shadow.
ѽҵЩԸɵѽĸء
ֻǾŰɡ
My wishes are fools, they shout across thy song, my Master.
Let me but listen.
Ҳѡõġ
õѡҡ
I cannot choose the best.
The best chooses me.
ЩѵƱڱϵˣǵӰͶԼǰ档
They throw their shadows before them who carry their lantern on
their back.
ҵĴڣһõ棬
That I exist is a perpetual surprise which is life.
ҶشǷꡣ˭أijĬţ
Ҳһ仨
We, the rustling leaves, have a voice that answers the storms,
but who are you so silent?"
I am a mere flower.
Ϣ빤Ĺϵ۾Ĺϵ
Rest belongs to the work as the eyelids to the eyes.
һĺӣ
Man is a born child, his power is the power of growth.
ϣdzǵĻ䣬̫ء
God expects answers for the flowers he sends us, not for the sun
the earth.
һĺӣҶϷ֪ǻ
թġ
The light that plays, like a naked child, among the green leaves
happily knows not that man can lie.
ѽڰԼɣҪ㾵ӵȥѰ
O Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror.
ҵİIJĺϳ弤ţϱдǣ
Ұ㡣
My heart beats her waves at the shore of the world and writes upon
it her signature in tears with the words, "I love thee."
¶ѽڵȺʲôأ
ҽλ̫¾
Moon, for what do you wait?
To salute the sun for whom I must make way.
ҵĴǰ·ƵĴطĿ
The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth.
Լ峿ԼҲġ
His own mornings are new surprises to God.
õʲʹõֵ
Life finds its wealth by the claims of the world, and its worth
by the claims of love.
ݽߵĺӴлĹȥ
The dry river-bed finds no thanks for its past.
ԸΪһơ
ƶԸΪһֻ
The bird wishes it were a cloud.
The cloud wishes it were a bird.
ٲ質ҵõʱ˸ˡ
The waterfall sing, "I find my song, when I find my freedom."
˵ΪʲôĬĬɥš
ΪDzҪ֪ǵõССҪ
I cannot tell why this heart languishes in silence.
It is for small needs it never asks, or knows or remembers.
ˣʱ質ţɽϪˮ質
Сʯ
Woman, when you move about in your household service your limbs sing
like a hill stream among its pebbles.
̫ĺʱŶľ
The sun goes to cross the Western sea, leaving its last salutation
to the East.
ҪΪԼûθڶȥʳ
Do not blame your food because you have no appetite.
ȺʾصԸƵģտ
The trees, like the longings of the earth, stand atiptoe to peep
at the heaven.
Цţͬ˵ʲôҾãΪѵȴþˡ
You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this
I had been waiting long.
ˮdzĬģ½ϵֵģеķǸ質ŵġ
ǣȴкijĬϵе֡
The fish in the water is silent, the animal on the earth is noisy,
the bird in the air is singing.
But Man has in him the silence of the sea, the noise of the earth and
the music of the air.
ڳ֮ĵܹȥ
The world rushes on over the strings of the lingering heart making
the music of sadness.
ĵϵۡ
ĵʤʱԼȴʧˡ
He has made his weapons his gods.
When his weapons win he is defeated himself.
ӴҵԼ
God finds himself by creating.
ӰĻܵأ˳أijĬİĽŲڡ⡱
ߡ
Shadow, with her veil drawn, follows Light in secret meekness,
with her silent steps of love.
ȺDzԵө
The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies.
ллҲһȨӣDZѹµĻ֮һ
I thank thee that I am none of the wheels of power but I am one with
the living creatures that are crushed by it.
Ǽģǿģִÿһϣȴ
The mind, sharp but not broad, sticks at every point but does not move.
żίɢڳˣ֤ijżΰ
You idol is shattered in the dust to prove that God's dust is greater
than your idol.
˲ʷбֳԼʷзܶ¶ͷǡ
Man does not reveal himself in his history, he struggles up through it.
Ϊߵƽֶߵơ³ʱ
ȴº͵ЦţΪװģװĽ㡣
While the glass lamp rebukes the earthen for calling it cousin the
moon rises, and the glass lamp, with a bland smile, calls her,
---My dear, dear sister.
纣Ÿ֮벨Ƶأˣ߽ˡŸȥι
Ҳֱˡ
Like the meeting of the seagulls and the waves we meet and come near.
The seagulls fly off, the waves roll away and we depart.
ҵİѾˣһֻں̲ϵС
My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to
the dance-music of the tide in the evening.
ǵ츳ģΩ׳ܵõ
Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it.
ǴΪǫʱӽΰʱ
We come nearest to the great when we are great in humility.
ȸȸβǡ
The sparrow is sorry for the peacock at the burden of its tail.
Ҫɲǣ֮š
Never be afraid of the moments--thus sings the voice of the everlasting.
·֮Ѱ֮·ͻȻڡ֮֮
The hurricane seeks the shortest road by the no-road, and suddenly ends
its search in the Nowhere.
ԼıУҵľưɣѡ
һڱ˵ıƵĭҪʧˡ
Take my wine in my own cup, friend.
It loses its wreath of foam when poured into that of others.
ȫΪ˶ԡȫİԼװε
The perfect decks itself in beauty for the love of the Imperfect.
˵ҽ˺㣬Գͷ㡣
God says to man, "I heal you therefore I hurt, love you therefore punish."
ллDzҪִƵˣǼ̵վںڰء
Thank the flame for its light, but do not forget the lampholder
standing in the shade with constancy of patience.
Сѽ㲽Сӵµء
Tiny grass, your steps are small, but you possess the earth under
your tread.
ٿˣеװѽ벻Ҫήлˡ
The infant flower opens its bud and cries, "Dear World, please do not
fade."
Щ۹еȴЩССĻ䡣
God grows weary of great kingdoms, but never of little flowers.
ʧܣȴʧܡ
Wrong cannot afford defeat but Right can.
ٲ質ȻֻҪˮ㹻ˣȴܿظҵȫ
ˮ
I give my whole water in joy,
it is enough for the thirsty.
ЩȥһֹĿϲľԴȪ
أ
Where is the fountain that throws up these flowers in a ceaseless
outbreak of ecstasy?
ԷĸͷҪ
The woodcutter's axe begged for its handle from the tree.
The tree gave it.
ѶĻƻ裬Ļ꣬ҵĵĹ¼о̾Ϣ
In my solitude of heart I feel the sigh of this widowed evening veiled
with mist and rain.
ǴӷḻİIJƸ
Chastity is a wealth that comes from abundance of love.
һɽϷıá
The mist, like love, plays upon the heart of the hills and bring out
surprises of beauty.
ǰ翴ˣ˵ƭǡ
We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us.
ʫˣ쭷磬ɭ֣Լĸ
The poet wind is out over the sea and the forest to seek his own voice.
ÿһӳʱϢ˵˲δʧ
Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man.
̲ϵİ¡
ľյļį
The grass seeks her crowd in the earth.
The tree seeks his solitude of the sky.
˶Լ̷
Man barricades against himself.
ҵѣƮҵǺˮĵ
ھŵ֮䡣
Your voice, my friend, wanders in my heart, like the muffled sound
of the sea among these listening pines.
ɼĺڰ֮棬ԷΪģʲôأ
What is this unseen flame of darkness whose sparks are the stars?
ʹĻ֮ѤãҶ֮
Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves.
˵ģţǰ˵Ŀųš
He who wants to do good knocks at the gate; he who loves finds the
gate open.
ʱڶͶΪһʱһΪڶࡣ
˵ʱڽ̱㽫϶Ϊһ
In death the many becomes one; in life the one becomes many.
Religion will be one when God is dead.
ȻˣȻūҲȻˡ
The artist is the lover of Nature, therefore he is her slave and her
master.
жԶأʵѽ
Ҳأѽ
How far are you from me, O Fruit?
I am hidden in your heart, O Flower.
ΪǸںҹоõڴȴˡ
This longing is for the one who is felt in the dark, but not seen
in the day.
¶Ժˮ˵ںҶĴ¶飬ںҶĽС¶
顣
You are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf, I am the smaller
one on its upper side," said the dewdrop to the lake.
ʱķԼijٶۡ
The scabbard is content to be dull when it protects the keenness of
the sword.
ںڰУһһ壻ڹУһڶࡣ
ھŵ֮䡣
In darkness the One appears as uniform; in the light the One appears
as manifold.
ؽ̲ݣԳԼںÿ͡
The great earth makes herself hospitable with the help of the grass.
ҶļתĸתȦ
֮컺ת
The birth and death of the leaves are the rapid whirls of the eddy
whose wider circles move slowly among stars.
Ȩƶ˵ҵġ
Ȩı档
˵ġ
谮ɡ
Power said to the world, "You are mine."
The world kept it prisoner on her throne.
Love said to the world, "I am thine."
The world gave it the freedom of her house.
Ũ·ǴصԸ
̫̫ԭġ
The mist is like the earth's desire.
It hides the sun for whom she cries.
ЩɣҵģЩѽ
Be still, my heart, these great trees are prayers.
˲̵Ц֡
The noise of the moment scoffs at the music of the Eternal.
˸밮ĴϵʱԼЩʱ֮
ұо뿪ˡ
I think of other ages that floated upon the stream of life and love
and death and are forgotten, and I feel the freedom of passing away.
»ɴ
ɴȺҹжȥ
The sadness of my soul is her bride's veil.
It waits to be lifted in the night.
֮ӡǸǮԼֵʹܹı
Death's stamp gives value to the coin of life; making it possible
to buy with life what is truly precious.
ǫѷվ֮һ硣
ϼʡ
The cloud stood humbly in a corner of the sky.
The morning crowned it with splendour.
ܵ裬ȴĻ𡣡
The dust receives insult and in return offers her flowers.
ֻ߹ȥضŲ˻棬Ϊһ·ϻԻŵġ
Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on,
for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way.
ǵµ֦
֦ǿеĸ
Roots are the branches down in the earth.
Branches are roots in the air.
ԶԶȥ˵֣֮䣬Ѱľݡ
The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking
its former nest.
ҪԼĴͳѫѣġ
Do not insult your friend by lending him merits from your own pocket.
ӵĸдԵҵϣɫ̦
Ե
The touch of the nameless days clings to my heart like mosses round
the old tree.
Цԭ֤ԭ
The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original.
˿˵õرʱϵȴˡ
God is ashamed when the prosperous boasts of His special favour.
ͶԼӰҵ·ϣΪһյûȼơ
I cast my own shadow upon my path, because I have a lamp that has not
been lighted.
߽ȺȥΪҪûԼijĬĺš
Man goes into the noisy crowed to drown his own clamour of silence.
ֹ˥ǡԲȴֹ
That which ends in exhaustion is death, but the perfect ending is
in the endless.
ֻ̫һصĹ£ȴ˲õȹա
The sun has his simple rode of light. The clouds are decked with
gorgeousness.
ɽȺ֮£ǵ˫ۣȥϵǡ
The hills are like shouts of children who raise their arms, trying
to catch stars.
·ȻӵȴǼįģΪDzġ
The road is lonely in its crowd for it is not loved.
ȨĶԿ䣬µĻҶ븡εƬȴЦ
The power that boasts of its mischiefs is laughed at by the yellow
leaves that fall, and clouds that pass by.
̫ӪӪһ֯ŲĸˣһѾ
ȴԣһЩŴĸ
The earth hums to me today in the sun, like a woman at her spinning,
some ballad of the ancient time in a forgotten tongue.
̲ΰġ
the grass-blade is worthy of the great world where it grows.
һһҪ̸ӡ
˯һĬĬܵɷ
Dream is a wife who must talk,
Sleep is a husband who silently suffers.
ҹȥӽǣ˵ĸסҾ
Ҫµ
The night kisses the fading day whispering to his ear, I am death,
your mother. I am to give you fresh birth.
ҹѽҸоˡһɰĸˣѵ˵ʱ
I feel thy beauty, dark night, like that of the loved woman when
she has put out the lamp.
ҰЩȥϵķٴҵ
I carry in my world that flourishes the worlds that have failed.
װѽҾźʱҺüĺɫĻƻ
ϣеΰ˼ijĬˡ
Dear friend, I feel the silence of your great thoughts of many a
deepening eventide on this beach when I listen to these waves.
ΪڿһִƵľٶ
The bird thinks it is an act of kindness to give the fish a life
in the air.
ҹ̫˵Уҡ
̲ҵĻشˡ
In the moon thou sendest thy love letters to me,
I leave my answers in tears upon the grass.
ΰһĺӣʱΰĺʱ硣
The great is a born child; when he dies he gives his great childhood
to the world.
鳵Ĵˮظ裬ʹʯ
Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water sings the pebbles
into perfection.
۷ӻۣ뿪ʱӪӪصл
ĺȴŻӦлġ
Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave.
The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him.
㲻ȴҪ˵ȫĩ滰˵Ǻġ
To be outspoken is easy when you do not wait to speak the complete truth.
ܡʡܡ
סʲôطأ
شΪߵξ
Asks the Possible to the Impossible,
Where is your dwelling-place?
In the dreams of the impotent, comes the answer.
еĴʱҲҪˡ
If you shut your door to all errors truth will be shut out.
Щĵƺ죬Ҳܿǡ
I hear some rustle of things behind my sadness of heart,
---I cannot see them.
Ͼڶʱǹ
ֹĺˮʱɲΡ
Leisure in its activity is work.
The stillness of the sea stirs in waves.
Ҷʱ˻
ʱ˹ʵ
The leaf becomes flower when it loves.
The flower becomes fruit when it worships.
ڵµʹ֦ʵȴҪʲôꡣ
The roots below the earth claim no rewards for making the branches
fruitful.
Ļƻ裬ֹشš
ҿҡҷ֦ΰ
This rainy evening the wind is restless.
I look at the swaying branches and ponder over the greatness of
all things.
ҹķ꣬һĺӣڲʱ˵ĺҹʼϲ
֡
Storm of midnight, like a giant child awakened in the untimely dark,
has begun to play and shout.
ѽⱩĹ¼ŵ¸ѽˣ
ѽ
Thou raisest thy waves vainly to follow thy lover, O sea, thou
lonely bride of the storm.
ֶԹ˵ҲҵĿ顣
˵ҿʱұ֪ƶˡ
I am ashamed of my emptiness, said the Word to the Work.
I know how poor I am when I see you, said the Work to the Word.
ʱDZ仯IJƸʱģȴֻб仯Ƹ
Time is the wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes
it mere change and no wealth.
ѣʵ̫ˡ
Уȴתú泩
Truth in her dress finds facts too tight.
In fiction she moves with ease.
ҵʱ·ѽˣڣҵ
ȥʱұ㰮㣬ˡ
When I travelled to here and to there, I was tired of thee, O Road,
but now when thou leadest me to everywhere I am wedded to thee in love.
룬Ⱥ֮Уһָҵ֪ͨĺڰġ
Let me think that there is one among those stars that guides my life
through the dark unknown.
ˣָҵʲƵˡ
Woman, with the grace of your fingers you touched my things and order
came out like music.
һˮƵ껪С
ҹҳҰ㡣
One sad voice has its nest among the ruins of the years.
It sings to me in the night, ---I loved you.
ȼŵĻܵĹ澯ҲҪ߽
ҴDZڻеȳɡ
The flaming fire warns me off by its own glow.
Save me from the dying embers hidden under ashes.
Ⱥϣ
ǣСȴûе
I have my stars in the sky.
But oh for my little lamp unlit in my house.
ֵijմ㡣
óĬȥϴɡ
The dust of the dead words clings to thee.
Wash thy soul with silence.
϶֮֡
Gaps are left in life through which comes the sad music of death.
糿Ĺ֮ġ
ɣҵģİȥᡣ
The world has opened its heart of light in the morning.
Come out, my heart, with thy love to meet it.
ҵ˼ЩҫҶҫҵչĸ質
ҵΪһͬڿռεʱīڶе*
My thoughts shimmer with these shimmering leaves and my heart sings
with the touch of this sunlight; my life is glad to be floating with
all things into the blue of space, into the dark of time.
ľȨ͵˼ڿ籩֮С
God's great power is in the gentle breeze, not in the storm.
Уһ¶ɢţѹңⲻһѽʱ
ұ㽫Щ¶ѾۼҲ㽫ˡ
This is a dream in which things are all loose and they oppress.
I shall find them gathered in thee when I awake and shall be free.
ʵ˭ҵְأ
ߵ˵Ҫܵȥҵˡ
Who is there to take up my duties? asked the setting sun.
I shall do what I can, my Master, said the earthen lamp.
Żʱò
By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
ĬӵΧ˯
Silence will carry your voice like the nest that holds the sleeping birds.
IJСͬΡ
еȴԶ֮
The Great walks with the Small without fear.
The Middling keeps aloof.
ҹܵذѻˣȴðȥлʡ
The night opens the flowers in secret and allows the day to get thanks.
ȨΪߵʹ塣
Power takes as ingratitude the writhings of its victims.
ǵijʵΪʱĩDZֵܺܿظǵĹʵ
ˡ
When we rejoice in our fulness, then we can part with our fruits with joy.
Ŵأ˼ҵĺӣĸףڴϻ
ˡ
The raindrops kissed the earth and whispered, --- We are thy homesick
children, mother, come back to thee from the heaven.
Ҫ¶㣬ȴס˲Ӭ
The cobweb pretends to catch dewdrops and catches flies.
ѽŵ˵ʹ֮ʱܹ
ΪҸ
Love! When you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hand,
I can see your face and know you as bliss.
өϵ˵ѧ˵Ĺһġ
ϵDzش
The leaned say that your lights will one day be no more, said the
firefly to the stars.
The stars made no answer.
ڻƻ峿ҵijĬ
In the dusk of the evening the bird of some early dawn comes to
the nest of my silence.
˼ӹҵϣһȺҰѼɹա
ǹ֮ˡ
Thoughts pass in my mind like flocks of lucks in the sky.
I hear the voice of their wings.
ϲ룺ĴڣרΪˮġ
The canal loves to think that rivers exist solely to supply it with water.
ʹͬҽǣҪꡣ
The world has kissed my soul with its pain, asking for its return
in songs.
ѹҵģҵҪأ꣬
ĵţҪأ
That which oppresses me, is it my soul trying to come out in the open,
or the soul of the world knocking at my heart for its entrance?
˼ԼιԼɳˡ
Thought feeds itself with its own words and grows.
Ұ֮Ĭ֮ʱУʢ˰ˡ
I have dipped the vessel of my heart into this silent hour; it has
filled with love.
ڹûС
㲻ò˵Щ°ɡʱĩҪʼˡ
Either you have work or you have not.
When you have to say, "Let us do something", then begins mischief.
տڰĻ俴ͬ
̫ˣЦ˵ôҵı
The sunflower blushed to own the nameless flower as her kin.
The sun rose and smiled on it, saying, "Are you well, my darling?"
˭ƵĴǰأ
Լ粽š
Who drives me forward like fate?
The Myself striding on my back.
ưˮںӵˮԼȴԶɽ֮С
The clouds fill the watercups of the river, hiding themselves in
the distant hills.
һ·ȥҵˮƿ©ˮ
ֻʣ¼ټٵˮһؼʹˡ
I spill water from my water jar as I walk on my way,
Very little remains for my home.
еˮǹԵģеˮȴǺɫġ
С˵ȴֻгĩ
The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark.
The small truth has words that are clear; the great truth has great
silence.
ЦԼĻ̸Լɽϵֵ
ѽȴǸŮˣǸȫʶŮˡ
Your smile was the flowers of your own fields, your talk was the rustle
of your own mountain pines, but your heart was the woman that we all know.
ҰССˣȴһеˡ
ĵţҪأ
It is the little things that I leave behind for my loved ones,
---great things are for everyone.
ѽảģŴء
Woman, thou hast encircled the world s heart with the depth of thy
tears as the sea has the earth.
̫Цʺ
꣬ƵĽ㣬ҵ̸
The sunshine greets me with a smile.
The rain, his sad sister, talks to my heart.
ҵ֮DZĻꡣ
ڻƻУ⻨ΪһżĽ
My flower of the day dropped its petals forgotten.
In the evening it ripens into a golden fruit of memory.
ҹ֮·ĵż
I am like the road in the night listening to the footfalls of its
memories in silence.
ƻգҿһȴһյƻ𣬵ƻ𱳺һεȴ
The evening sky to me is like a window, and a lighted lamp,
and a waiting behind it.
̫µˣҲʱȥˡ
He who is too busy doing good finds no time to be good.
ƣտյزˮڳĵУԿҵijʵ
I am the autumn cloud, empty of rain, see my fulness in the field
of ripened rice.
ǼʣDzɱ˷ǡ
ȻϵȴߣҴҵذļ̲档
They hated and killed and men praised them.
But God in shame hastens to hide its memory under the green grass.
ֺȥָ
Toes are the fingers that have forsaken their past.
ڰУäȴС
Darkness travels towards light, but blindness towards death.
СĴı۶λá
The pet dog suspects the universe for scheming to take its place.
ŰɣҵģҪij
ԼѰ·
Sit still, my heart, do not raise your dust.
Let the world find its way to you.
ڼҪ֮ǰԼ˵ɾҵɡ
The bow whispers to the arrow before it speeds forth--
Your freedom is mine.
ˣЦ֮Ȫ֡
Woman, in your laughter you have the music of the fountain of life.
ȫǵģǡһȫǷеĵ
ʹѪ
A mind all logic is like a knife all blade.
It makes the hand bleed that uses it.
˼ĵƹԼĴǡ
God loves man's lamp lights better than his own great stars.
Ϊ֮ѱ˵Ŀ硣
This world is the world of wild storms kept tame with the music of beauty.
ϼ̫˵ҵľĽǣƽıˡ
My heart is like the golden casket of thy kiss,
cloud to the sun.
ӴţɱԶţռС
By touching you may kill, by keeping away you may possess.
ҹӺڰдҵĶߣŵ
ʱɳҵξС
The cricket's chirp and the patter of rain come to me through the dark,
like the rustle of dreams from my past youth.
dz価˵еҵ¶ȫʧˡ
I have lost my dewdrop,
lost all its stars.
ȼŵľ飬ܵ⣬еҵĻ䣬ҵ
ԼѰ·
The burning log bursts in flame and cries, --- "This is my flower, my death."
ƷΪڷ䴢̫֮С
ҪȥһСġ
The wasp thinks that the honeyhive of the neighbouring bees is too small.
His neighbours ask him to build one still smaller.
Ӱ˵ҲסIJˡ
ұӡҵɡ
I cannot keep your waves,
Let me keep your footprints in my heart.
ССĵţûijĬ
The day, with the noise of this little earth, drowns the silence of
all worlds.
иеޣͼڵϸеޣʫأڿУڵ
϶ˡ
ΪʫĴʾ京߶ܷ֡
The song feels the infinite in the air, the picture in the earth,
the poem in the air and the earth;
For its words have meaning that walks and music that soars.
̫ʱ糿ĶѾĵվǰ
When the sun goes down to the West, the East of his morning stands
before him in silence.
ҲҪذԼҵʹҡ
Let me not put myself wrongly to my world and set it against me.
ʹҸеΪҰ
Praise shames me, for I secretly beg for it.
ûʲôʱҲʲô£ɧŵس밲ɣ
һ纣ˮĬʱߵĺɫ
Let my doing nothing when I have nothing to do become untroubled in its
depth of peace like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent.
ŮѽĴӣˮֳ̣֮֮䡣
Maiden, your simplicity, like the blueness of the lake, reveals your
depth of truth.
õĶǶģ
еĶͬ
The best does not come alone.
It comes with the company of the all.
ǴȰģȴ¡
God's right hand is gentle, but terrible is his left hand.
ҵɫİľҵõ˵
My evening came among the alien trees and spoke in a language
which my morning stars did not know.
ҹ֮ڰһֻڴųĽ⡣
Night's darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.
ǵѲʺɫֻ
Our desire lends the colours of the rainbow to the mere mists
and vapours of life.
ȴţҪ˵ϰԼĻΪӮûȥ
God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man's hands.
ҵ˼ңҪԼ֡
My sad thoughts tease me asking me their own names.
ҵģҵģҶҵɣҶǫ
ѷأרĵشġ
The service of the fruit is precious, the service of the flower is
sweet, but let my service be the service of the leaves in its shade of
humble devotion.
ҵɺķ˷Ҫۺδ֮ȥ
My heart has spread its sails to the idle winds for the shadowy
island of Anywhere.
ױģġ
Men are cruel, but Man is kind.
ҵıɣΪ㣬Ϊ˶ʢˮɡ
Make me thy cup and let my fulness be for thee and for thine.
籩ʹеijĿΪİ鱻ܾ
The storm is like the cry of some god in pain whose love the earth refuses.
粻ʧΪһ϶
The world does not leak because death is not a crack.
Ϊ˵İΪ㡣
Life has become richer by the love that has been lost.
ҵѣΰĹâеһѩ
·塣
My friend, your great heart shone with the sunrise of the East like
the snowy summit of a lonely hill in the dawn.
֮ȪʹֹˮԾ
The fountain of death makes the still water of life play.
ЩһжûˣҵϵۣڼЦЩûбĶ
ֻء
Those who have everything but thee, my God, laugh at those who have
nothing but thyself.
˶ԼõϢ
The movement of life has its rest in its own music.
ֻܴӵܵõջ
Kicks only raise dust and not crops from the earth.
ǵ֣ҹﺣϷĹ⣬ۼҲˡ
Our names are the light that glows on the sea waves at night and
then dies without leaving its signature.
ۿõ廨ҲĴ̡
Let him only see the thorns who has eyes to see the rose.
ϵ˻ƽϰˡ
Set the bird's wings with gold and it will never again soar in the sky.
ǵطĺɻİˮϿ˻ųͬ㣬ֻֻ
ˡ
The same lotus of our clime blooms here in the alien water with
the same sweetness, under another name.
ĵԶľԵøˡ
In heart's perspective the distance looms large.
¶Ĺϣȴĺڰ߸Լ
The moon has her light all over the sky, her dark spots to herself.
Ҫ˵糿һ족ʰһ
ûֵӰɡ
Do not say, "It is morning," and dismiss it with a mane of yesterday.
See it for the first time as a new-born child that has no name.
̶տڣҽԴؿڣΪǻֵܡ
Smoke boasts to the sky, and Ashes to the earth, that they are
brothers to the fire.
õɡ
̾Ϣһڵˡ
The raindrop whispered to the jasmine, "Keep me in your heart for ever."
The jasmine sighed, "Alas," and dropped to the ground.
ӵ˼ѽҪҡ
һʫˡ
Timid thoughts, do not be afraid of me.
I am a poet.
ҵʵijĬƺĻҰ
ĺɫ
The dim silence of my mind seems filled with crickets' chirp ---
the grey twilight of sound.
ѽȺǵָԼصˡ
Rockets, your insult to the stars follows yourself back to the earth.
ңҵİӵọ́ҵĻƻ
¼֮
ͨļžҵȴ塣
Thou hast led me through my crowded travels of the day to my evening's
loneliness.
I wait for its meaning through the stillness of the night.
ǵƶɹһǶСС
ʱDZ㵽˰ȥˡ
This life is the crossing of a sea, where we meet in the same
narrow ship.
In death we reach the shore and go to our different worlds.
֮Ĵ֮
The stream of truth flows through its channels of mistakes.
ҵˣǿʱ֮һ۵ʱ
My heart is homesick today for the one sweet hour across the sea of time.
ĸӴطȥĻ
The bird-song is the echo of the morning light back from the earth.
ëݢǽòϺҽô
Are you too proud to kiss me?
СʵҪض㳪سأ̫ѽ
ֻ̫ҪĴӵijĬ
How may I sing to thee and worship, O Sun?
By the simple silence of thy purity,
ʱ
Man is worse than an animal when he is an animal.
ܹĽʱϵĻ䡣
Dark clouds become heaven's flowers when kissed by light.
Ҫõ漥Цӵۡ
Let not the sword-blade mock its handle for being blunt.
ҹijĬһĵյӱȼŵĵƹ⡣
The night's silence, like a deep lamp, is burning with the light of
its milky way.
ĸҹĹܡ
Around the sunny island of Life swells day and night death's
limitless song of the sea.
Ƶɽչ⣬ɽһ仨
Is not this mountain like a flower, with its petals of hill, drinking
the sunlight?
ʵĺ屻⣬رãǾͳˡʵ
The real with its meaning read wrong and emphasis misplaced is the unreal.
ҵѽɣСõˮƵġ
Find your beauty, my heart, from the world's movement, like the boat
that has the grace of the wind and the water.
۲ˣȴǵ۾ˡ
The eyes are not proud of their sight but of their eyeglasses.
סҵССʹСһ̧ٵ
ȥɣҸ߸˵ʧȥҵһеɡ
I live in this little world of mine and am afraid to make it the
least less. Life me into thy world and let me have the freedom gladly
to lose my all.
αԶƾȨжʵ
The false can never grow into truth by growing in power.
ҵģͬĸ°IJˣҪ
͵ɫ硣
My heart, with its lapping waves of son, longs to caress this green
world of the sunny day.
ԵIJݣϵǰɣξڻʵˡ
Wayside grass, love the star, then your dreams will come out in flowers.
һУֱоŵаɡ
Let your music, like a sword, pierce the noise of the market to its heart.
IJ֮ҶҵģһӤָ
The trembling leaves of this tree touch my heart like the fingers of
an infant child.
С˯ڳ
Ѱ̵ߵĵ·
The little flower lies in the dust.
It sought the path of the butterfly.
ڵ·ݺϡ
ҹˡŰɣ֮ǣ
I am in the world of the roads.
The night comes. Open thy gate, thou world of the home.
Ѿİĸ衣
ڻƻʱĵ߹Ʈҡĵ·ɡ
I have sung the songs of thy day.
In the evening let me carry thy lamp through the stormy path.
ҲҪҵ
㵽Ĺ¼ɣҵİˣ
I do not ask thee into the house.
Come into my infinite loneliness, my Lover.
һ
·Ҳ·
Death belongs to life as birth does.
The walk is in the raising of the foot as in the laying of it down.
Ѿѧڻ塣ٽڿ
˵Ļɡ
I have learnt the simple meaning of thy whispers in flowers and sunshine
---teach me to know thy words in pain and death.
ҹĻˣ糿ʱţ̾Ϣһήڵ
ˡ
The night's flower was late when the morning kissed her, she shivered
and sighed and dropped to the ground.
ijУˡĸס
Through the sadness of all things I hear the crooning of the Eternal Mother.
ѽҵ㰶ʱһİˣסʱһͣ뿪
ʱһѡ
I came to your shore as a stranger, I lived in your house as a guest,
I leave your door as a friend, my earth.
ȥʱҵ˼뵽Ϧ⣬ӳڳĬ
ϡ
Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the after glow of
sunset at the margin of starry silence.
ҵͷȼĻƻǰɣȻúҹŰ顣
Light in my heart the evening star of rest and then let the night
whisper to me of love.
һںڰеĺӡ
Ҵҹıҵ˫֣ĸס
I am a child in the dark.
I stretch my hands through the coverlet of night for thee, Mother.
Ĺˡҵڲıۼɣĸס
ΰɡ
The day of work is done. Hide my face in your arms, Mother.
Let me dream.
ʱĵƹ⣬˺ܾãɢʱƱˡ
The lamp of meeting burns long; it goes out in a moment at the parting.
ʱѽijĬУšѾˡ仰
ɡ
One word keep for me in thy silence, O World, when I am dead,
I have loved.
Ȱʱϡ
We live in this world when we love it.
DzDzİ
Let the dead have the immortality of fame, but the living the
immortality of love.
ҿ㣬ǰѵӤĸףЦ
˯ȥˡ
I have seen thee as the half-awakened child sees his mother in the
dusk of the dawn and then smiles and sleeps again.
ҽġ
I shall die again and again to know that life is inexhaustible.
ҺӵȺһͬ·߹ʱҿ̨Ц
Ҹ質ţȴе
While I was passing with the crowd in the road I saw thy smile from
the balcony and I sang and forgot all noise.
dzʵ˵ʢ˾ƵľƱ
Love is life in its fulness like the cup with its wine.
ǵԼĵƣǵԺڣԼĻ
СȴijУ֣Ϊֱǿ֡
They light their own lamps and sing their own words in their temples.
But the birds sing thy name in thine own morning light, --- for thy
name is joy.
ҵijŵģʹҵij˸ɡ
Lead me in the centre of thy silence to fill my heart with songs.
ЩѡԼеģɡ
ҵĿķǣҵϵۡ
Let them live who choose in their own hissing world of fireworks.
My heart long s for thy stars, my God.
ʹҵһӿĴƵسĿȴ
ڻƵسš
Love's pain sang round my life like the unplumbed sea, and love's joy
sang like birds in its flowering groves.
Ը⣬Ϩ˵ưɡ
ҽĺڰҽϲ
Put out the lamp when thou wishest.
I shall know thy darkness and shall love it.
ӵˣվǰʱҵ˰̣֪
ҵഴˣҲҵҽεķ
When I stand before thee at the day s end thou shalt see my scars
and know that I had my wounds and also my healing.
һ죬Ҫڱij㳪ǰڵĹ
˵İѾˡ
Some day I shall sing to thee in the sunrise of some other world,
I have seen thee before in the light of the earth, in the love of man.
ӱƮҵƣ籩ˣȴֻ
ҵϦɫʡ
Clouds come floating into my life from other days no longer to shed
rain or usher storm but to give colour to my sunset sky.
˷ԼĿ꣬dz괵ɢĹ㲥ӡ
Truth raises against itself the storm that scatters its seeds broadcast.
ҹķյ糿˽ɫĺƽ
The storm of the last night has crowned this morning with golden peace.
·Ľ۶ǽȴĵڶ
Truth seems to come with its final word; and the final word gives
birth to its next.
иģΪûбʵ
Blessed is he whose fame does not outshine his truth.
ֵ۳ҵģԼģ糿
̫ʱǴʧˡ
Sweetness of thy name fills my heart when I forget mine---like
thy morning sun when the mist is melted.
ĵĺҹĸֵİкӵ
The silent night has the beauty of the mother and the clamorous day
of the child.
Цʱ簮Цʱˡ
The world loved man when he smiled. The world became afraid of him
when he laughed.
ȴǻ»ͯꡣ
God waits for man to regain his childhood in wisdom.
ҸеİijΰɣĩҵİҲ
Let me feel this world as thy love taking form, then my ove will help it.
ҵͷĶЦĴĻ䡣
Thy sunshine smiles upon the winter days of my heart, never doubting
of its spring flowers.
İšġȴšġ
God kisses the finite in his love and man the infinite.
Խë֮ɳĮԲʱ̡
Thou crossest desert lands of barren years to reach the moment of fulfilment.
ľĬʹ˵˼Ϊԡ
God's silence ripens man's thoughts into speech.
ÿ͡ѽҵĸҵ㼣
Thou wilt find, Eternal Traveller, marks of thy footsteps across my songs.
ҲɣףĺԳĹ١
Let me not shame thee, Father, who displayest thy glory in thy children.
һDzġ£һĶͯҰ
ֺۣŽţһ˵Ŀ֪
ȥҵѡ
Cheerless is the day, the light under frowning clouds is like a
punished child with traces of tears on its pale cheeks, and the cry of
the wind is like the cry of a wounded world. But I know I am travelling
to meet my Friend.
Ҷ죬дˣºǣ
ʲô֪գijĬ˰ʹܣ
Tonight there is a stir among the palm leaves, a swell in the sea,
Full Moon, like the heart throb of the world. From what unknown sky hast
thou carried in thy silence the aching secret of love?
μһǣһ죬ҽٵϾ
ҵҵµĵ
I dream of a star, an island of light, where I shall be born and in
the depth of its quickening leisure my life will ripen its works like
the rice-field in the autumn sun.
еʪϢСȺһ
The smell of the wet earth in the rain rises like a great chant of
praise from the voiceless multitude of the insignificant.
˵ʧȥǾ仰Dzܹܵһʵ
That love can ever lose is a fact that we cannot accept as truth.
ǽһףԶܹȥǵõĶΪ
õģԼһ塣
We shall know some day that death can never rob us of that which our
soul has gained, for her gains are one with herself.
ҵĻƻУŻЩҹȥģ
Ļлúʡ
God comes to me in the dusk of my evening with the flowers from my
past kept fresh in his basket.
ѽҵ֮Ҷѵгʱֵһһ࣬Է
When all the strings of my life will be tuned, my Master, then at
every touch of thine will come out the music of love.
ʵʵػŰɣҵϵۡҲͳʵˡ
Let me live truly, my Lord, so that death to me become true.
ʷں͵صȴűߵʤ
Man's history is waiting in patience for the triumph of the insulted man.
һ̸е۹ҵϣ糿еijĬ
Ĺ¼ŵҰһ
I feel thy gaze upon my heart this moment like the sunny silence of
the morning upon the lonely field whose harvest is over.
IJĺУҿӽ֮
I long for the Island of Songs across this heaving Sea of Shouts.
ҹǿʼϦµ֣ʼݵĺڰׯ
ϵ衣
The prelude of the night is commenced in the music of the sunset,
in its solemn hymn to the ineffable dark.
ʵϸ߷壬Ļ߲ëĸߴֱҲһ֮ء
ҵߺǣ쵼ڹȥ֮ǰɽȥɡһ
ջΪƽǻۡ
I have scaled the peak and found no shelter in fame's bleak and barren
height. Lead me, my Guide, before the light fades, into the valley of
quiet where life's harvest mellows into golden wisdom.
ƻЩ·ǻһ㣭
ĵײںڰʧˣīˮģİߵƵġҽȴ
ʱͻῴڹijС
Things look phantastic in this dimness of the dusk---the spires whose
bases are lost in the dark and tree tops like blots of ink. I shall wait
for the morning and wake up to see thy city in the light.
ܿʧΰ
Ϊ֡
I have suffered and despaired and known death and I am glad that
I am in this great world.
ҵһҲƶͳĬĵæµӵõչ
ļƬտ֮ء
There are tracts in my life that are bare and silent. They are the
open spaces where my busy days had their light and air.
ҵδɵĹȥӺ߲Ƶϣʹȥ
Ұɡ
Release me from my unfulfilled past clinging to me from behind making
death difficult.
İ仰ҵĻ
Let this be my last word, that I trust thy love.