Reverend sir, forgive this pair of <br />sinners. Spring winds to-day are <br />blowing in wild eddies, driving dust <br />and dead leaves away, and with them <br />your lessons are all lost. <br /> Do not say, father, that life is a <br />vanity. <br /> For we have made truce with death <br />for once, and only for a few fragrant <br />hours we two have been made immortal. <br /> Even if the king's army came and <br />fiercely fell upon us we should sadly <br />shake our heads and say, Brothers, <br />you are disturbing us. If you must <br />have this noisy game, go and clatter <br />your arms elsewhere. Since only for <br />a few fleeting moments we have been <br />made immortal. <br /> If friendly people came and flocked <br />around us, we should humbly bow to <br />them and say, This extravagant good <br />fortune is an embarrassment to us. <br />Room is scarce in the infinite sky <br />where we dwell. For in the spring- <br />time flowers come in crowds, and the <br />busy wings of bees jostle each other. <br />Our little heaven, where dwell only <br />we two immortals, is too absurdly <br />narrow.<br /><br />Rabindranath Tagore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gardener-xliv-reverend-sir-forgive/
