Your questioning eyes are sad. They <br />seek to know my meaning as the moon <br />would fathom the sea. <br />I have bared my life before your <br />eyes from end to end, with nothing <br />hidden or held back. That is why you <br />know me not. <br />If it were only a gem, I could break <br />it into a hundred pieces and string <br />them into a chain to put on your neck. <br />If it were only a flower, round and <br />small and sweet, I could pluck it from <br />its stem to set it in your hair. <br />But it is a heart, my beloved. <br />Where are its shores and its bottom? <br />You know not the limits of this <br />kingdom, still you are its queen. <br />If it were only a moment of pleasure <br />it would flower in an easy smile, and <br />you could see it and read it in a <br />moment. <br />If it were merely a pain it would <br />melt in limpid tears, reflecting its <br />inmost secret without a word. <br />But it is love, my beloved. <br />Its pleasure and pain are boundless, <br />and endless its wants and wealth. <br />It is as near to you as your life, but <br />you can never wholly know it.<br /><br />Sir Rabindranath Tagore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gardener-xxviii-your-questioning-eyes-2/
