Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail <br />vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. <br /> <br />This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, <br />and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new. <br /> <br />At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in <br />joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. <br /> <br />Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. <br />Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill.<br /><br />Rabindranath Tagore<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/little-flute/
