Tagore's Gitanjali,poem no. 83

MOTHER, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck with my tears of sorrow. 

The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet, but mine will hang upon thy breast. 

Wealth and fame come from thee and it is for thee to give or to withhold them. 

But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own, and when I bring it to thee as my offering thou rewardest me with thy grace.

Tagore's Gitanjali,POEM NO. 84

IT is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky. 

It is this sorrow of separation that gazes in silence all night from star to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness of July. 

It is this overspreading pain that deepens into loves and desires, into sufferings and joys in human homes; 

and this it is that ever melts and flows in songs through my poet's heart.

Tagore's Gitanjali, POEM NO. 85

WHEN the warriors came out first from their master's hall, where had they hid their power? 

Where were their Armour and their arms? They looked poor and helpless, and the arrows were showered upon them on the day they came out from their master's hall. 

When the warriors marched back again to their master's hall where did they hide their power? 

They had dropped the sword and dropped the bow and the arrow; 

peace was on their foreheads, and they had left the fruits of their life behind them on the day they marched back again to their master's hall.