The Journey Poem by Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore

Calcutta (Kolkata), Bengal Presidency / British India

The Journey

Rating: 2.8


The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs;
and the flowers were all merry by the roadside;
and the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds
while we busily went on our way and paid no heed.

We sang no glad songs nor played;
we went not to the village for barter;
we spoke not a word nor smiled;
we lingered not on the way.
We quickened our pace more and more as the time sped by.

The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade.
Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon.
The shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the banyan tree,
and I laid myself down by the water
and stretched my tired limbs on the grass.

My companions laughed at me in scorn;
they held their heads high and hurried on;
they never looked back nor rested;
they vanished in the distant blue haze.

They crossed many meadows and hills,
and passed through strange, far-away countries.
All honor to you, heroic host of the interminable path!
Mockery and reproach pricked me to rise,
but found no response in me.

I gave myself up for lost
in the depth of a glad humiliation
- -in the shadow of a dim delight.

The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom
slowly spread over my heart.
I forgot for what I had traveled,
and I surrendered my mind without struggle
to the maze of shadows and songs.

At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes,
I saw thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile.
How I had feared that the path was long and wearisome,
and the struggle to reach thee was hard!

Thursday, January 1, 2004
Topic(s) of this poem: journey
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
EdzelAbuan 18 February 2018

What sensory images did the poet use to convey his emotions

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Glen Kappy 23 November 2016

I haven't read much of Tagore for years, so what a delight to read this one. Stand-out lines: the wealth of gold was scattered through the rift of clouds sun-embroidered green gloom The easy flow of words and the form make me think of Whitman and remind me that free verse is not free, that it requires a good ear and a treasury of vocabulary to draw from. Glen Kappy

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Rabindranath Tagore

Rabindranath Tagore

Calcutta (Kolkata), Bengal Presidency / British India
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