Wednesday, February 06, 2008
The evening was lonely for me,
and i was reading a book till my heart became dry,
and it seemed to me that beauty was a thing fashioned by the traders in words.
Tired i shut the book and snuffed the candle.
In a moment, the room was flooded with moonlight.
Spirit of Beauty, how could you, whose radiance overbrims the sky,
stand hidden behind a candle's tiny flame?
How could a few vain words from a book rise like a mist, and veil her
whose voice has hushed from the heart of earth into ineffable calm?
Rabindranath Tagore, The Evening was Lonely
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