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Tagore, Rabindranath, 1861-1941

"The Fugitive"


Peaceful and still though this night be, my heart is full of the music of a
hopeless venture and baffled end. Ask me not to leave those who are doomed
to defeat. Let the Pandavas win the throne, since they must: I remain with
the desperate and forlorn. On the night of my birth you left me naked and
unnamed to disgrace: leave me once again without pity to the calm
expectation of defeat and death!

29

When like a flaming scimitar the hill stream has been sheathed in gloom by
the evening, suddenly a flock of birds passes overhead, their loud-laughing
wings hurling their flight like an arrow among stars.
It startles a passion for speed in the heart of all motionless things; the
hills seem to feel in their bosom the anguish of storm-clouds, and trees
long to break their rooted shackles.

For me the flight of these birds has rent a veil of stillness, and reveals
an immense flutter in this deep silence.
I see these hills and forests fly across time to the unknown, and darkness
thrill into fire as the stars wing by.


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