Thursday, January 1, 2004
The Gardener Xliii: No, My Friends Comments
Rating: ★2.7
No, my friends, I shall never be an
ascetic, whatever you may say.
I shall never be and ascetic if she
does not take the vow with me.
...
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7/31/2025 12:14:10 PM # 1.0.0
I am searching for a poem by R Tagore about, roughly, where did baby's eyes, or babies ears, etc. come from? The answers refer to a young woman's youth, walking in the garden, something, something. The poem was on a meal tray served in the hospital when I birthed my son in 1984. I lost my copy of it, but loved it so and ever since have enjoyed the poetry of Rabindranath Tagore. If someone knows of this poem to which I refer, please let me know at imasperling@hotmail.com. Thanks.
THE SOURCE THE sleep that flits on baby's eyes- does anybody know from where it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where, in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there it comes to kiss baby's eyes. The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps- does anybody know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumour that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning- the smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps. The sweet, soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs- does anybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes, when the mother was a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent mystery of love- the sweet, soft freshness that has bloomed on baby's limbs.