Gitanjali and Fruit-gathering . se heart, timid thing! The spring breeze has overheardyour desire, the day will not end beforeyou have fulfilled your being. Dark is the future to her, and the FRUIT-GATHERING 181 odour cries in despair, Ah me, through whose fault is my Hfe so unmeaning?Who can tell me, why I am at all?Do not lose heart, timid thing!The perfect dawn is near when you will mingle your life with all life and know at last your purpose. 182 FRUIT-GATHERING LXI She is still a child, my lord. She runs about your palace andplays, and tries to make of you a play-thing as well. She heeds
Gitanjali and Fruit-gathering . se heart, timid thing! The spring breeze has overheardyour desire, the day will not end beforeyou have fulfilled your being. Dark is the future to her, and the FRUIT-GATHERING 181 odour cries in despair, Ah me, through whose fault is my Hfe so unmeaning?Who can tell me, why I am at all?Do not lose heart, timid thing!The perfect dawn is near when you will mingle your life with all life and know at last your purpose. 182 FRUIT-GATHERING LXI She is still a child, my lord. She runs about your palace andplays, and tries to make of you a play-thing as well. She heeds not when her hair tumblesdown and her careless garment drags inthe dust. She falls asleep when you speak toher and answers not—and the floweryou give her in the morning slips to thedust from her hands. When the storm bursts and darknessis over the sky she is sleepless; herdolls he scattered on the earth and sheclings to you in terror. She is afraid that she may fail inservice to you. But with a smile you watch her ather Painted by Nandalal BoseShe is still a child FRUIT-GATHERING 183 You know her. The child sitting in the dust is yourdestined bride; her play will be stilledand deepened into love. 184 FRUIT-GATHERING LXII What is there but the sky, O Sun,that can hold thine image? I dream of thee, but to serve theeI can never hope, the dewdrop weptand said, I am too small to take theeunto me, great lord, and my life is alltears. I illumine the limitless sky, yet Ican yield myself up to a tiny drop ofdew, thus the Sun said; I shall be-come but a sparkle of light and fill you,and your little life will be a laughingorb. FRUIT-GATHERING 185 LXIII Not for me is the love that knows norestraint, but like the foaming winethat having burst its vessel in a mo-ment would run to waste. Send me the love which is cool andpure like your rain that blesses thethirsty earth and fills the homelyearthen jars. Send me the love that would soakdown into the centre of being, and fromthere woul
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