Gitanjali 86
R
Rabindranath Tagore
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Death, thy servant, is at my door.
He has crossed the unknown sea and
brought thy call to my home.
The night is dark and my heart is
fearful-yet I will take up the lamp,
open my gates and bow to him my
welcome. It is thy messenger who
stands at my door.
I will worship him with folded hands,
and with tears. I will worship him
placing at his feet the treasure of my
heart.
He will go back with his errand done,
leaving a dark shadow on my morning;
and in my desolate home only my
forlorn self will remain as my last
offering to thee.
Bu metin şairin özgün dilinde (bn) değil, bir çeviridir.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
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