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Tagore, Rabindranath, 1861-1941

"Gitanjali"


One plaintive little strain mingled with the great music of the
world, and with a flower for a prize you came down and stopped at
my cottage door.

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!
My hopes rose high and methought my evil days were at an end, and
I stood waiting for alms to be given unasked and for wealth
scattered on all sides in the dust.
The chariot stopped where I stood. Thy glance fell on me and
thou camest down with a smile. I felt that the luck of my life
had come at last. Then of a sudden thou didst hold out thy right
hand and say 'What hast thou to give to me?'
Ah, what a kingly jest was it to open thy palm to a beggar to
beg! I was confused and stood undecided, and then from my wallet
I slowly took out the least little grain of corn and gave it to
thee.
But how great my surprise when at the day's end I emptied my bag
on the floor to find a least little gram of gold among the poor
heap.


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