Come to my garden walk, my love. Pass by the fervid flowers that <br />press themselves on your sight. Pass them by, stopping at some <br />chance joy, which like a sudden wonder of sunset illumines, yet <br />elude. <br />For lover's gift is shy, it never tells its name, it flits <br />across the shade, spreading a shiver of joy along the dust. <br />Overtake it or miss it for ever. But a gift that can be <br />grasped is merely a frail flower, or a lamp with flame that will <br />flicker.<br /><br />Sir Rabindranath Tagore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lover-s-gifts-ii-come-to-my-garden-walk-2/
