Tagore, Rabindranath

Tagore, Rabindranath

Bengali poet, novelist, musician, painter and playwright who reshaped Bengali literature and music. As author of Gitanjali, he was the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature,

Total eBooks of selected author: 14

The Spirit of Japan
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I am glad to have this opportunity once more of speaking to you before I leave Japan. My stay here has been so short that one may think I have not earned my right to speak to you about anything concerning your country. I feel sure that I shall be told, that I am idealising certain aspects, while leaving others unnoticed, and that there are chances of my disillusionment, if I remain here for long. For I have ... more...
Stories from Tagore
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ITHE CABULIWALLAH My five years' old daughter Mini cannot live without chattering. I really believe that in all her life she has not wasted a minute in silence. Her mother is often vexed at this, and would stop her prattle, but I would not. To see Mini quiet is unnatural, and I cannot bear it long. And so my own talk with her is always lively. One morning, for instance, when I was in the midst of the ... more...
Glimpses of Bengal
Selected from the Letters of Sir Rabindranath ...
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BANDORA, BY THE SEA, October 1885. The unsheltered sea heaves and heaves and blanches into foam. It sets me thinking of some tied-up monster straining at its bonds, in front of whose gaping jaws we build our homes on the shore and watch it lashing its tail. What immense strength, with waves swelling like the muscles of a giant! From the beginning of creation there has been this feud between land and water: ... more...
The Home and the World
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Bimala's Story I MOTHER, today there comes back to mind the vermilion mark [1] at the parting of your hair, the __sari__ [2] which you used to wear, with its wide red border, and those wonderful eyes of yours, full of depth and peace. They came at the start of my life's journey, like the first streak of dawn, giving me golden provision to carry me on my way. The sky which gives light is blue, and my ... more...
The Hungry Stones and Other Stories
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THE HUNGRY STONES My kinsman and myself were returning to Calcutta from our Puja trip when we met the man in a train. From his dress and bearing we took him at first for an up-country Mahomedan, but we were puzzled as we heard him talk. He discoursed upon all subjects so confidently that you might think the Disposer of All Things consulted him at all times in all that He did. Hitherto we had been perfectly ... more...
The Cycle of Spring
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Characters of the Prelude King, Vizier, General (Bijoy Varma) Chinese Ambassador, Pundit (Sruti-bhushan) Poet (Kabi-shekhar), Guards, Courtiers, Herald The stage is on two levels: the higher, at the back, for the Song-preludes alone, concealed by a purple curtain; the lower only being discovered when the drop goes up. Diagonally across the extreme left of the lower stage, is arranged the king's court, with ... more...
Chitra, a play in one act
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THE CHARACTERS GODS:MADANA (Eros).VASANTA (Lycoris).MORTALS:CHITRA, daughter of the King of Manipur.ARJUNA, a prince of the house of the Kurus. He is of theKshatriya or "warrior caste," and during the action is living asa Hermit retired in the forest.VILLAGERS from an outlying district of Manipur.NOTE.—The dramatic poem "Chitra" has been performed in Indiawithout scenery—the actors being ... more...
The Crescent Moon
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INDEX OF THE FIRST LINES Ah, these jasminesAh, who was it coloured that little frockBless this little heartChild, how happy you are sitting in the dustCome and hire meDay by day I float my paper boatsI am small because I am a little childIf baby only wanted to, he could flyIf I were only a little puppyIf people came to know where my king's palace isI long to go over thereImagine, motherI only said, "When in ... more...
Fruit-Gathering
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I Bid me and I shall gather my fruits to bring them in full baskets into your courtyard, though some are lost and some not ripe. For the season grows heavy with its fulness, and there is a plaintive shepherd's pipe in the shade. Bid me and I shall set sail on the river. The March wind is fretful, fretting the languid waves into murmurs. The garden has yielded its all, and in the weary hour of evening the ... more...
The Fugitive
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Darkly you sweep on, Eternal Fugitive, round whose bodiless rush stagnant space frets into eddying bubbles of light. Is your heart lost to the Lover calling you across his immeasurable loneliness? Is the aching urgency of your haste the sole reason why your tangled tresses break into stormy riot and pearls of fire roll along your path as from a broken necklace? Your fleeting steps kiss the dust of this ... more...