The Gardener 85
Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak
of gold from yonder clouds.
Open your doors and look abroad.
From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of
Open your doors and look abroad.
From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of
an hundred years before.
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning,
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning,
sending its glad voice across an hundred years.
— Rabindranath Tagore
— Rabindranath Tagore
2 comments:
So beautiful. I can hear the spring flowers' stories as I gaze out of my window and see the glories of the spring crocus and daffodils and the hints of green on the weeping willows.
Where do you see weeping willows out your window?
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