: Rabindranath Tagore
: Delphi Collected Works of Rabindranath Tagore (Illustrated)
: Delphi Classics
: 9781786562173
: 1
: CHF 2.10
:
: Lyrik
: English
: 1132
: DRM
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB

Affectionately known as the Bard of Bengal, Rabindranath Tagore was also a celebrated novelist, short-story writer, essayist and playwright, who introduced new prose and verse forms into Bengali literature, freeing it from traditional models based on classical Sanskrit. Highly influential in introducing Indian culture to the West, Tagore is generally regarded as the outstanding creative artist of early twentieth century India, becoming the first non-European to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature. The Delphi Poets Series offers readers the works of literature's finest poets, with superior formatting. This volume presents Tagore's collected works, with related illustrations and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)


* Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Tagore's life and works
* Concise introduction to Tagore's life and poetry
* Images of how the poetry books were first printed, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
* Excellent formatting of the poems
* Many rare translations by the poet himself, often missed out of other collections
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the poetry
* Easily locate the poems you want to read
* Two novels, including 'The Wreck', first time in digital publishing
* Rare short stories and plays
* Includes Tagore's letters - explore the poet's personal correspondence
* A generous selection of non-fiction
* Features Edward John Thompson's seminal biography - discover Tagore's literary life
* Scholarly ordering of texts into chronological order and literary genres


Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to see our wide range of poet titles


CONTENTS:


The Life and Poetry of Rabindranath Tagore
Brief Introduction: Rabindranath Tagore
The Crescent Moon
My Golden Bengal
Gitanjali
Fruit-Gathering
The Morning Song of India
The Fugitive and Other Poems
Stray Birds
The Gardener
Songs of Kabir
Lover's Gift
Crossing
Fireflies
Miscellaneous Verses


The Poems
List of Poems in Chronological Order
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order


The Plays
Chitra
The Cycle of Spring
The King of the Dark Chamber
The Post Office
Malini
Sacrifice
The King and the Queen
Autumn-Festival
Red Oleanders
The Waterfall
The Trial


The Novels
The Home and the World
The Wreck


The Short Stories
The Hungry Stones and Other Stories
Mashi and Other Stories
Stories from Tagore
Broken Ties and Other Stories
Miscellaneous Short Stories
Index of Short Stories


The Letters
Glimpses of Bengal


The Non-Fiction
Creative Unity
Nationalism
Sadhana: The Realisation of Life
The Spirit of Japan


The Autobiography
My Reminiscences


The Biography
Rabindranath Tagore: His Life and Work by Edward John Thompson


Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of poetry titles or buy the entire Delphi Poets Series as a Super Set


Index of First Words


Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend?

At this time of my parting, wish me good luck, my friends!

Beautiful is thy wristlet, decked with stars and cunningly wrought in myriad-coloured jewels.

By all means they try to hold me secure who love me in this world.

Clouds heap upon clouds and it darkens.

Day after day, O lord of my life, shall I stand before thee face to face?

Death, thy servant, is at my door.

Deity of the ruined temple!

Deliverance is not for me in renunciation.

Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat, only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our pilgrimage to no country and to no end.

Ever in my life have I sought thee with my songs.

Have you not heard his silent steps?

He came and sat by my side but I woke not.

He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches.

He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon.

Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet where live the poorest, and lowliest, and lost.

I am here to sing thee songs.

I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn uselessly roaming in the sky, O my sun ever-glorious!

I am only waiting for love to give myself up at last into his hands.

I ask for a moment’s indulgence to sit by thy side.

I asked nothing from thee;

I boasted among men that I had known you.

I came out alone on my way to my tryst.

I dive down into the depth of the ocean of forms, hoping to gain the perfect pearl of the formless.

I had gone a-begging from door to door in the village path, when thy golden chariot appeared in the distance like a gorgeous dream and I wondered who was this King of all kings!

I have got my leave.

I have had my invitation to this world’s festival, and thus my life has been blessed.

I know not from what distant time thou art ever coming nearer to meet me.

I know not how thou singest, my master!

I know that the day will come when my sight of this earth shall be lost, and life will take its leave in silence, drawing the last curtain over my eyes.

I know thee as my God and stand apart — I do not know thee as my own and come closer.

I must launch out my boat.

I thought I should ask of thee — but I dared not — the rose wreath thou hadst on thy neck.

I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power, — that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

I was not aware of the moment when I first crossed the threshold of this life.

I will deck thee with trophies, garlands of my defeat.

If it is not my portion to meet thee in this my life then let me ever feel that I have missed thy sight — let me not forget for a moment, let me carry the pangs of this sorrow in my dreams and in my wakeful hours.

If the day is done, if birds sing no more, if the wind has flagged tired, then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me, even as thou hast wrapt the earth with the coverlet of sleep and tenderly closed the petals of the drooping lotus at dusk.

If thou speakest not I will fill my heart with thy silence and endure it.

In desperate hope I go and search for her in all the corners of my room;

In one salutation to thee, my God, let all my senses spread out and touch this world at thy feet.

In the deep shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thou walkest, silent as night, eluding all watchers.

In the night of weariness let me give myself up to sleep without struggle, resting my trust upon thee.

Is it beyond thee to be glad with the gladness of this rhythm?

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

Languor is upon your heart and the slumber is still on your eyes.

Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads!

Let all the strains of joy mingle in my last song — the joy that makes the earth flow over in the riotous excess of the grass, the joy that sets the twin brothers, life and death, dancing over the wide world, the joy that sweeps in with the tempest, shaking and waking all life with laughter, the joy that sits still with its tears on the