I asked nothing from thee | Song Offerings, Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore

I asked nothing from thee – is a poem in the Rabindranath Tagore’s poetry collection “Song Offerings” or “Gitanjali” in Bengali. Geetanjali is a remarkable book of verses composed by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), which earned him the Nobel Prize.

 

I asked nothing from thee | Song Offerings, Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore
Rabindranath Tagore

 

It was written originally in Bangla during 1908-1909 and later its English version in prose was published under the title ‘The Song offerings’. It was the first English anthology of Rabindranath published in late 1912 by the India Society of London. On 10 November of the following Year (1913), Rabindranath Tagore was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature for the book Geetanjali.

This recognition introduced Rabindranath worldwide as an exponent of unique poetic talent. Famous Irish poet W B Yeats wrote the introduction of the English version of Geetanjali. Besides, a pencil sketch of the poet drawn by Rothenstain was published in the book. Rabindranath dedicated Geetanjali to WB Yeats.

Serial Number of the song : 54

I asked nothing from thee | Song Offerings, Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore
Rabindranath Tagore

I asked nothing from thee .

I ASKED nothing from thee; I uttered not my name to thine ear. When thou took’st thy leave I stood silent. I was alone by the well where the shadow of the tree fell aslant, and the women had gone home with their brown earthen pitchers full to the brim. They called me and shouted, ‘Come with us, the morning is wearing on to noon.’ But I languidly lingered awhile lost in the midst of vague musings.

I heard not thy steps as thou earnest. Thine eyes were sad when they fell on me; thy voice was tired as thou spokest low-‘Ah, I am a thirsty traveller.’ I started up from my day-dreams and poured water from my jar on thy joined palms. The leaves rustled overhead; the cuckoo sang from the unseen dark, and perfume of babla flowers came from the bend of the road.

I stood speechless with shame when my name thou didst ask. Indeed, what had I done for thee to keep me in remembrance? But the memory that I could give water to thee to allay thy thirst will cling to my heart and enfold it in sweetness. The morning hour is late, the bird sings in weary notes, neem leaves rustle overhead and I sit and think and think.

 

 

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