from : Tagore's Gitanjali (Song Offerings)..just a few....

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there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the

pathmaker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower,

and his garment is covered with dust. "

 

Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel

thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life.

 

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales,

and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

 

At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits

in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable.

 

Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine.

Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.

 

 

 

from: RABINDRANATH TAGORE (1861--1941)

 

Nobel prize for literature 1913

 

.......bob