Words for Sunday: Excerpt from "Gift" by Rabindranath Tagore

"... Truest treasure is fleeting;
It sparkles for a moment, then goes.
It does not tell its name; its tune
Stops us in our tracks, its dance disappears
At the toss of an anklet.
I know no way to it --
No hand, nor word can reach it.
Friend, whatever you take of it,
On your own,
Without asking, without knowing, let that
Be yours. ..."

the poet's signature (from Wikipedia)

More about this poet here.

Translated from the Bengali by William Radice

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