Stray Birds 11 – 20 (Rabindranath Tagore Poems)
11SOME unseen fingers, like idle breeze,are playing upon my heart the music of the ripples.12"WHAT language is thine, O sea?" "The ...
11SOME unseen fingers, like idle breeze,are playing upon my heart the music of the ripples.12"WHAT language is thine, O sea?" "The ...
One day in spring, a woman cameIn my lonely woods,In the lovely form of the Beloved.Came, to give to my ...
I often wonder where lie hiddenthe boundaries of recognition betweenman and the beast whose heart knowsno spoken language. Through what primal ...
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