The Gardener X: Let Your Work Be, Bride
Let your work be, bride. Listen, the
guest has come.
Do you hear, he is gently shaking
the chain which fastens the door?
See that your anklets make no loud
noise, and that your step is not over-
hurried at meeting him.
Let your work be, bride, the guest
had come in the evening.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.
It is the full moon on a night of
April; shadows are pale in the court-
yard; the sky overhead is bright.
Draw your veil over your face if
you must, carry the lamp to the door
if you fear.
No, it is not the ghostly wind, bride,
do not be frightened.
Have no word with him if you are
shy; stand aside by the door when you
meet him.
If he asks you questions, and if
you wish to, you can lower you eyes
in silence.
Do not let your bracelets jingle
when, lamp in hand, you lead him in.
Have no words with him if your are
shy.
Have you not finished you work yet,
bride? Listen, the guest has come.
Have you not lit the lamp in the
cowshed?
Have you not got ready the offering
basket for the evening service?
Have you not put the red lucky
mark at the parting of your hair, and
done your toilet for the night?
O bride, do you hear, the guest has
come?
Let your work be!
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Related quotes
We Are To Play The Game Of Death
WE are to play the game of death to-night, my bride and I.
The night is black, the clouds in the sky are capricious, and the waves are raving at sea.
We have left our bed of dreams, flung open the door and come out, my bride and I.
We sit upon a swing, and the storm winds give us a wild push from behind.
My bride starts up with fear and delight, she trembles and clings to my breast.
Long have I served her tenderly.
I made for her a bed of flowers and I closed the doors to shut out the rude light from her eyes.
I kissed her gently on her lips and whispered softly in her ears till she half swooned in languor.
She was lost in the endless mist of vague sweetness.
She answered not to my touch, my songs failed to arouse her.
To-night has come to us the call of the storm from the wild.
My bride has shivered and stood up, she has clasped my hand and come out.
Her hair is flying in the wind, her veil is fluttering, her garland rustles over her breast.
The push of death has swung her into life.
We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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A Mirage
Were I thy bride,
Then the whole world beside
Were not too wide
To hold my wealth of love -
Were I thy bride!
Upon thy breast
My loving head would rest,
As on her nest
The tender turtle-dove -
Were I thy bride!
This heart of mine
Would be one heart with thine,
And in that shrine
Our happiness would dwell -
Were I thy bride!
And all day long
Our lives should be a song:
No grief, no wrong
Should make my heart rebel -
Were I thy bride!
The silvery flute,
The melancholy lute,
Were night-owl's hoot
To my low-whispered coo -
Were I thy bride!
The skylark's trill
Were but discordance shrill
To the soft thrill
Of wooing as I'd woo -
Were I thy bride!
The rose's sigh
Were as a carrion's cry
To lullaby
Such as I'd sing to thee -
Were I thy bride!
A feather's press
Were leaden heaviness
To my caress.
But then, unhappily,
I'm not thy bride!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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My body and my mind
My body and my mind...
My body and my mind are in depression because
You are not with me.
How much I love you and want you in my house!
When I hear people describe me as your bride I look sideways ashamed,
because I know that far inside us we have never met.
Then what is this love of mine?
I don’t really care about food, I don’t really care about sleep,
I am restless indoors and outdoors.
The bride wants her lover as much as a thirsty man wants water.
And how will I find someone who will take a message
to the Guest from me?
How restless Kabir is all the time!
How much he wants to see the Guest!
I Remember
It was my bridal night I remember,
An old man of seventy-three
I lay with my young bride in my arms,
A girl with t.b.
It was wartime, and overhead
The Germans were making a particularly heavy raid on Hampstead.
Harry, do they ever collide?
I do not think it has ever happened,
Oh my bride, my bride.
poem by Stevie Smith
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The Nobleman's Wedding
I once was a guest at a Nobleman's wedding;
Fair was the Bride, but she scarce had been kind,
And now in our mirth, she had tears nigh the shedding
Her former true lover still runs in her mind.
Attired like a minstrel, her former true lover
Takes up his harp, and runs over the strings;
And there among strangers, his grief to discover,
A fair maiden's falsehood he bitterly sings.
'Now here is the token of gold that was broken;
Seven long years it was kept for your sake;
You gave it to me as a true lover's token;
No longer I'll wear it, asleep or awake.'
She sat in her place by the head of the table,
The words of his ditty she mark'd them right well:
To sit any longer this bride was not able,
So down at the bridegroom's feet she fell.
'O one, one request, my lord, one and no other,
O this one request will you grant it to me?
To lie for this night in the arms of my mother,
And ever, and ever thereafter with thee.'
Her one, one request it was granted her fairly;
Pale were her cheeks as she went up to bed;
And the very next morning, early, early,
They rose and they found this young bride was dead.
The bridegroom ran quickly, he held her, he kiss'd her,
He spoke loud and low, and listen'd full fain;
He call'd on her waiting-maids round to assist her
But nothing could bring the lost breath back again.
O carry her softly! the grave is made ready;
At head and at foot plant a laurel-bush green;
For she was a young and a sweet noble lady,
The fairest young bride that I ever have seen.
poem by William Allingham
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Wind bride
Without you my days are empty,
as if blown by the wind,
as if everything is swept away
like pieces of sand
into another place,
into another sombre world
where clouds knot through the air
melting into each other
and even some of the flowers
have the colours of your eyes
the winter grass
looks almost like your hair (only the colour differs)
and when you suddenly knock on the front door
standing there with rain and wind
stringing your hair
your arms shoot round my neck.
When I draw you in through the front door
your hair is swept against me,
while I am lost in your eyes,
and you are like Kokoschka’s wind bride.
[References: After the painting of Oskar Kokoschka. Windsbruid (Windy-bride) by H. J. Pieterse.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Lucky Ball & Chain
I lost my lucky ball & chain
Now she's four years gone
Just five feet tall and sick of me
And all my rattling on
She threw away her baby-doll
I held on to my pride
But i was young and foolish then
I feel old and foolish now
Confidentially --
She never called me baby-doll
Confidentially --
I never had much pride
But now i rock a bar stool
And i drink for two
Just pondering this time bomb in my mind
I lost my lucky ball & chain
Now she's four years gone
Just five feet tall and sick of me
And all my rattling on
She walked away from a happy man
I thought i was so cool
I just stood there whistling
"there goes the bride" as she walked out the door
"there goes the bride" as she walked out the door
I could shake my tiny fist
And swear i wasn't wrong
But what's the sense in arguing
When you're all alone?
Sure as you can't steer a train
You can't change your fate
And when she told me of that day
I knew i'd lost my home
Confidentially --
I never told you of her charms
Confidentially --
We never had a home
But this railroad apartment
Was the perfect place
When she'd sit and hold me in her arms
I lost my lucky ball & chain
Now she's four years gone
Just five feet tall and sick of me
And all my rattling on
She walked away from a happy man
I thought i was so cool
I just stood there whistling
"there goes the bride" as she walked out the door
"there goes the bride" as she walked out the door
"there goes the bride" as she walked out the door
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wedding of Abbas and…………..
Today isn’t ordinary day
The sky colored in other color
And
The earth isn’t the earth
Everything today is something else
Birds are singing with joy
And
The sky decorated and the moon lamp
All are happy and joy even me
Today isn’t ordinary day
Abbas isn’t Abbas
Turban and decorated dress
A smile in he's face
Knight sword in his hand
Ride on fly horse
Today isn’t ordinary day
Bride sings today
Red dress and red lips
Anklets, diamond chain
And modesty Accessories Bride
Today isn’t ordinary day
Today's wedding and joy
Wedding of Abbas and…………..
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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Lucky Ball Chain
I lost my lucky ball & chain
Now shes four years gone
Just five feet tall and sick of me
And all my rattling on
She threw away her baby-doll
I held on to my pride
But I was young and foolish then
I feel old and foolish now
Confidentially --
She never called me baby-doll
Confidentially --
I never had much pride
But now I rock a bar stool
And I drink for two
Just pondering this time bomb in my mind
I lost my lucky ball & chain
Now shes four years gone
Just five feet tall and sick of me
And all my rattling on
She walked away from a happy man
I thought I was so cool
I just stood there whistling
There goes the bride as she walked out the door
There goes the bride as she walked out the door
I could shake my tiny fist
And swear I wasnt wrong
But whats the sense in arguing
When youre all alone?
Sure as you cant steer a train
You cant change your fate
And when she told me of that day
I knew Id lost my home
Confidentially --
I never told you of her charms
Confidentially --
We never had a home
But this railroad apartment
Was the perfect place
When shed sit and hold me in her arms
I lost my lucky ball & chain
Now shes four years gone
Just five feet tall and sick of me
And all my rattling on
She walked away from a happy man
I thought I was so cool
I just stood there whistling
There goes the bride as she walked out the door
There goes the bride as she walked out the door
There goes the bride as she walked out the door
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Sweet Bride
Come walk with me my sweet bride,
If need be along life's tempest side.
Through howling storms and fury's edge,
Against it's might I would be your strong hedge.
Come walk with me my sweet bride.
Through meadows far to beautiful to hide.
Where nature blankets every ripple and hill,
Will the glorious golden daffodil.
Come walk with me my sweet bride.
Hand in hand through life with pride.
You with the man of your heart.
And me with you, my work of art.
Come walk with me my sweet bride.
Where life's sand storms collide.
Across deserts where life dare not go.
With you in hand, this becomes gentle snow.
Come walk with me my sweet bride,
With love now matured we share a hearth-side.
With my strong arm around your slim waist.
We'll hold each other steady in a love chaste.
R. K. Hart 15/11/12
My Bride That Is To Be
O soul of mine, look out and see
My bride, my bride that is to be!
Reach out with mad, impatient hands,
And draw aside futurity
As one might draw a veil aside--
And so unveil her where she stands
Madonna-like and glorified--
The queen of undiscovered lands
Of love, to where she beckons me--
My bride--my bride that is to be.
The shadow of a willow-tree
That wavers on a garden-wall
In summertime may never fall
In attitude as gracefully
As my fair bride that is to be;--
Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown
As lightly flutter to the lawn
As fall her fairy-feet upon
The path of love she loiters down.--
O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet
Not one may stain her sandal wet--
Aye, she might _dance_ upon the way
Nor crush a single drop to spray,
So airy-like she seems to me,--
My bride, my bride that is to be.
I know not if her eyes are light
As summer skies or dark as night,--
I only know that they are dim
With mystery: In vain I peer
To make their hidden meaning clear,
While o'er their surface, like a tear
That ripples to the silken brim,
A look of longing seems to swim
All worn and wearylike to me;
And then, as suddenly, my sight
Is blinded with a smile so bright,
Through folded lids I still may see
My bride, my bride that is to be.
Her face is like a night of June
Upon whose brow the crescent-moon
Hangs pendant in a diadem
Of stars, with envy lighting them.--
And, like a wild cascade, her hair
Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist,
Till only through a gleaming mist
I seem to see a siren there,
With lips of love and melody
And open arms and heaving breast
Wherein I fling myself to rest,
The while my heart cries hopelessly
For my fair bride that is to be....
Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes!
My bride hath need of no disguise.--
But, rather, let her come to me
In such a form as bent above
My pillow when in infancy
I knew not anything but love.--
O let her come from out the lands
Of Womanhood--not fairy isles,--
And let her come with Woman's hands
And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,--
With Woman's hopefulness and grace
Of patience lighting up her face:
And let her diadem be wrought
Of kindly deed and prayerful thought,
That ever over all distress
May beam the light of cheerfulness.--
And let her feet be brave to fare
The labyrinths of doubt and care,
That, following, my own may find
The path to Heaven God designed.--
O let her come like this to me--
My bride--my bride that is to be.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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My Bride And God
LO AND BEHOLD!
I AM GRIEVED AND AFFLICTED,
WOE IS ME FOR MY LOVE'S SAKE,
MY WOE IS MY BRIDE!
LO AND BEHOLD,
MY BRIDE SERVES GOD,
AND GOD IS MY ENEMY,
CANS'T MY BRIDE THEN BE MY LOVE?
FOR SHE SERVETH A BEING THAT SEEKS TO ENSLAVE ME FOR ETERNITY,
AND MAKE ME A MOCKERY FOR IT'S PLEASURES SAKE,
LO, THUS I HAVE LIVED IN FALSEHOOD WITH AN ENEMY,
LO, MY BRIDE IS THUS MY ENEMY!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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Braid the Raven Hair
Braid the raven hair,
Weave the supple tress,
Deck the maiden fair
In her loveliness;
Paint the pretty face,
Dye the coral lip,
Emphasise the grace
Of her ladyship!
Art and nature, thus allied,
Go to make a pretty bride!
Sit with downcast eye,
Let it brim with dew;
Try if you can cry,
We will do so, too.
When you're summoned, start
Like a frightened roe;
Flutter, little heart,
Colour, come and go!
Modesty at marriage tide
Well becomes a pretty bride!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The time
Wedding was over;
Brought home was the bride,
With whom came a maid,
To serve her as an aid.
Days rolled;
As honey, appeared the bride;
As savour, moved about the maid,
As a rule, in a household.
Time lapsed;
The bride shed her charm
And the maid ruled calm
In their wait at the groom.
Event happened;
The groom went blasé
With the honey in use
And the savour was in wait for use.
Fate played;
The bride in the race ran first
But the maid ended first.
The bride was aghast.
It is a game;
The diminutive waxes;
The gigantic wanes
In the field of time.
07.04.97
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Seaga
New light and new love,
Gifts for the bride price to keep me awake;
But i am well advanced in age.
A man must pay a price for a bride,
And i am Seaga in your neighbourhood;
For a price must be paid for a wife.
Come to me and let me show you my abode,
For my peaceful home will guide you on;
And i want you to be my bride.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Rose Bouquets
I lay down
frilly covered
bouquet still
at my side;
lovely gown
arrayed
I lay down
rose petals all around
my arms at my side
my groom
outside
murmuring.
I am prepared
for this my surrender
or this my consummation;
this my mistake?
The Unknown?
The Alone?
The Bride.
Where do virginal brides go;
they hide in the rose petals
and wait.
I plucked a rose from
my bouquet-
gathered my
wits
and sat up on the bed
to walk to the door
to greet
my new husband;
face to face.
Bride I thought,
should stand up
because marriage now
means
more that courting;
marriage here begins
true partnership;
meet him at the door.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Suttee
GATHER her raven hair in one rich cluster,
Let the white champac light it, as a star
Gives to the dusky night a sudden lustre,
Shining afar.
Shed fragrant oils upon her fragrant bosom,
Until the breathing air around grows sweet;
Scatter the languid jasmine's yellow blossom
Beneath her feet.
Those small white feet are bare—too soft are they
To tread on aught but flowers; and there is roll'd
Round the slight ankle, meet for such display,
The band of gold.
Chains and bright stones are on her arms and neck;
What pleasant vanities are linked with them,
Of happy hours, which youth delights to deck
With gold and gem.
She comes! So comes the Moon, when she has found
A silvery path wherein thro' heaven to glide.
Fling the white veil—a summer cloud—around;
She is a bride!
And yet the crowd that gather at her side
Are pale, and every gazer holds his breath.
Eyes fill with tears unbidden, for the bride—
The bride of Death!
She gives away the garland from her hair,
She gives the gems that she will wear no more;
All the affections, whose love-signs they were,
Are gone before.
The red pile blazes—let the bride ascend,
And lay her head upon her husband's heart,
Now in a perfect unison to blend—
No more to part.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Not A Bit - All Of It
Hysteria and insomnia
Stress, neurosis
Please give a better impression with clever use of cosmetics
Amang others at this very happy wedding
Were mr. and mrs [peep]
The bride looked very pretty
Wearing a dress of old lace, designed by [peep]
Last week I had been to this beautiful memorial service held at [peep]
For the late [peep]
Laaaa, la da dia haoo ...
This man is a professional singer
We think his voice will develop
La, lala lala lalala
Here is the bride
La la la la la la la la
Holy bright
Tra la la la la la la la
Not a bit
La la la la la la la la
All of it
Here is the bride
La la la la la la la la
Holy bright
Tra la la la la
Not a bit
All of it
I made myself interesting again today
Obviously
song performed by by Vangelis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gardener LXIV: I Spent My Day
I spent my day on the scorching
hot dust of the road.
Now, in the cool of the evening, I
knock at the door of the inn. It is
deserted and in ruins.
A grim ashath tree spreads its
hungry clutching roots through the
gaping fissures of the walls.
Days have been when wayfarers
came here to wash their weary feet.
They spread their mats in the
courtyard in the dim light of the
early moon, and sat and talked of
strange lands.
They woke refreshed in the morning
when birds made them glad, and
friendly flowers nodded their heads
at them from the wayside.
But no lighted lamp awaited me
when I came here.
The black smudges of smoke left by
many a forgotten evening lamp stare,
like blind eyes, from the wall.
Fireflies flit in the bush near the
dried-up pond, and bamboo branches
fling their shadows on the grass-
grown path.
I am the guest of no one at the end
of my day.
The long night is before me, and I
am tired.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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The Moon is a Painter
He coveted her portrait.
He toiled as she grew gay.
She loved to see him labor
In that devoted way.
And in the end it pleased her,
But bowed him more with care.
Her rose-smile showed so plainly,
Her soul-smile was not there.
That night he groped without a lamp
To find a cloak, a book,
And on the vexing portrait
By moonrise chanced to look.
The color-scheme was out of key,
The maiden rose-smile faint,
But through the blessed darkness
She gleamed, his friendly saint.
The comrade, white, immortal,
His bride, and more than bride—
The citizen, the sage of mind,
For whom he lived and died.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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