Fireflies...Rabindranath Tagore
My fancies are fireflies, — Specks of living light twinkling in the dark. The voice of wayside pansies, that do not attract the careless glance, murmurs in these desultory lines. In the drowsy dark caves of the mind dreams build their nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan. Spring scatters the petals of flowers that are not for the fruits of the future, but for the moment's whim. Joy freed from the bond of earth's slumber rushes into numberless leaves, and dances in the air for a day. My words that are slight may lightly dance upon time's waves when my works heavy with import have gone down. Mind's underground moths grow filmy wings and take a farewell flight in the sunset sky. The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. My thoughts, like spark, ride on winged surprises, carrying a single laughter. The tree gazes in love at its own beautiful shadow which yet it never can grasp. Let my love, like sunlight, surround you and yet give you...