Tagore's famous short poem

1, you make me immortal, which is your joy. This fragile cup, you keep emptying it and filling it with new life. This little reed flute, you carry it over mountains and valleys, and blow out the music of eternal faith from the flute tube. Under the immortal touch of your hands, my little heart melted into boundless happiness and uttered unspeakable words. Your infinite gift is only poured into my little hand. Time has passed, you are still pouring, and I still have room to fill in my hand.

I don't know how to sing, my master! I always listen in surprise. The brilliance of your music illuminates the world. The smell of your music fills the sky. The holy spring of your music rushes forward, through all the blocked rocks. My heart longs to sing with you, but it can't make a sound. I want to talk, but the words don't reach the song, so I can't call them out. Oh, my master, you have turned my heart into a captive in your music net!

Please allow me to relax for a while and come and sit next to you. I'll finish my work later. Without you, my heart doesn't know what comfort and rest are, and my work has become endless labor in the boundless ocean of labor. Today, the hot summer came to my window and whispered: bees are playing and singing in the courtyard of the flower tree. This is the time to sit still, opposite you, and sing the song of life in this quiet and boundless leisure.