Sympathy
by Rabindranath Tagore
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)

If I were only a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear,
would you say "No" to me if I tried to eat from your dish?

Would you drive me off, saying to me,
"Go away, you naughty little puppy"?

Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call me and l never let you feed me any more.

If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby,
mother dear, would you keep me chained lest I should fly away?

Would you shake your finger at me and say,
"What an ungrateful wretch of a bird!
It is gnawing at its chain day and night"?

Then go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods;
I will never let you take me in your arms again.

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The First Jasmines
by Rabindranath Tagore
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)

AH, these jasmines, these white jasmines!
I seem to remember the first day when I filled my hands
with these jasmines, these white jasmines.

I have loved the sunlight, the sky and the green earth;
I have heard the liquid murmur of the river
through the darkness of midnight;
Autumn sunsets have come to me at the bend of the road the lonely waste, like a bride raising her veil
to accept her lover.
Yet my memory is still sweet with the first white jasmines that I held in my hands when I was a child.

Many a glad day has come in my life,
and I have laughed with merrymakers on festival nights.

On grey mornings of rain
I have crooned many an idle song.

I have worn round my neck the evening wreath of
BAKULAS woven by the hand of love.

Yet my heart is sweet with the memory of the first fresh jasmines that filled my hands when I was a child.

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Twelve O'Clock
by Rabindranath Tagore
(This poem is from 'The Crescent Moon' by Tagore)

Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now.
I have been at my book all the morning.

You say it is only twelve o'clock.
Suppose it isn't very late; can't you ever think
it is afternoon when it is only twelve o'clock?

I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached
the edge of that rice-field, and the old fish-woman is
gathering herbs for her supper by the side of the pond.

I can just shut my eyes and think
that the shadows are growing darker
under the MADAR tree, and the water
in the pond looks shiny black.

If twelve o'clock can come in the night,
why can't the night come when it is twelve o'clock?