Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness
of this wild rhythm? to be tossed and lost and
broken in the whirl of this fearful joy? Listen,
canst thou hear from every direction of the sky,
fromm all the sun, moon and stars, the harp player
of death smiting forth a firy round of music
pulsing in burning joy!
The hurricane of maddening tunes is
carrying onward all that ever is. Everything
moves, they stop not, they look not behind, they can
never be kept bound in bonds ― they are snatched
and swirled and borne on by the liberating joy.
Keeping steps with that restless rapid
music seasons come dancing and pass away ―
colours, tunes and perfumes pour in endless cascades
in the abounding joy that seatters and gives up and
dies every moment
পাতা:Original manuscript of Gitanjali - Rabindranath Tagore - Rothenstein collection.pdf/৩৫
এই পাতাটির মুদ্রণ সংশোধন করা হয়েছে, কিন্তু বৈধকরণ করা হয়নি।
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