WE ARE TO PLAY THE GAME OF DEATH
by: Rabindranath Tagore
(1861-1941)
- E are to play the game of death
to-night, my bride and I.
-
- The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious,
and the waves are raving at sea.
-
- We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come
out, my bride and I.
-
- We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push
from behind.
-
- My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and
clings to my breast.
-
- Long have I served her tenderly.
-
- I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to
shut out the rude light from her eyes.
-
- I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her
ears till she half swooned in languor.
-
- She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness.
-
- She answered not to my touch, my songs failed to arouse her.
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- To-night has come to us the call of the storm from the wild.
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- My bride has shivered and stood up, she has clasped my hand
and come out.
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- Her hair is flying in the wind, her veil is fluttering, her
garland rustles over her breast.
-
- The push of death has swung her into life.
-
- We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I.
"We are to play the game of
death" is reprinted from The Gardener. Rabindranath
Tagore. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1913. |
MORE POEMS BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE |
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