Saturday, June 15, 2013

My song has put off her adornments.  She has no pride of dress and decoration.  Ornaments would mar our union; they would come between thee and me; their jingling would drown they whispers.

My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight.  O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet.  Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.

-- Rabindranath Tagore
(from Gitanjali)

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