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THE CRESCENT MOON
THE CRESCENT MOON RABINDRANATH TAGORE By Rabindranath Tagore
Translated from the original Bengali by the author
with eight illustrations in colour
London and New York: Macmillan and Company 1913
TO T. STURGE MOORE
[Frontispiece: From a drawing by Nandalall Bose--see cbeach.jpg]
CONTENTS
THE HOME
ON THE SEASHORE
THE SOURCE
BABY'S WAY
THE UNHEEDED PAGEANT
SLEEP-STEALER
THE BEGINNING
BABY'S WORLD
WHEN AND WHY
DEFAMATION
THE JUDGE
PLAYTHINGS
THE ASTRONOMER
CLOUDS AND WAVES
THE CHAMPA FLOWER
FAIRYLAND
THE LAND OF THE EXILE
THE RAINY DAY
PAPER BOATS
THE SAILOR
THE FURTHER BANK
THE FLOWER-SCHOOL
THE MERCHANT
SYMPATHY
VOCATION
SUPERIOR
THE LITTLE BIG MAN
TWELVE O'CLOCK
AUTHORSHIP
THE WICKED POSTMAN
THE HERO
THE END
THE RECALL
THE FIRST JASMINES
THE BANYAN TREE
BENEDICTION
THE GIFT
MY SONG
THE CHILD-ANGEL
THE LAST BARGAIN
LIST OF COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS
FRONTISPIECE
THE HOME
THE BEGINNING
FAIRYLAND
PAPER BOATS
THE MERCHANT
THE HERO
BENEDICTION
INDEX OF THE FIRST LINES
Ah these jasmines
Ah who was it coloured that little frock
Bless this little heart
Child how happy you are sitting in the dust
Come and hire me
Day by day I float my paper boats
I am small because I am a little child
If baby only wanted to he could fly
If I were only a little puppy
If people came to know where my king's palace is
I long to go over there
Imagine mother
I only said "When in the evening"
I paced alone
It is time for me to go mother
I want to give you something my child
I wish I could take a quiet corner
Mother I do want to leave off my lessons
Mother let us imagine we are travelling
Mother the folk who live up in the clouds
Mother the light has grown grey
Mother your baby is silly
On the seashore of endless worlds
O you shaggy-headed banyan tree
Say of him what you please
Sullen clouds are gathering
Supposing I became a champa flower
The boat of the boatman Madhu
The night was dark when we went away
The sleep that flits on baby's eyes
They clamour and fight
This song of mine
When I bring you coloured toys
When storm clouds
When the gong sounds ten
Where have I come from
Who stole sleep from baby's eyes
Why are those tears in your eyes my child
Why do you sit there on the floor
You say that father writes a lot of books
[Illustration: The Home--from a drawing by Nandalall Bose--see
chome.jpg]
THE HOME
I paced alone on the road across the field while the sunset was
hiding its last gold like a miser.
The daylight sank deeper and deeper into the darkness and the
widowed land whose harvest had been reaped lay silent.
Suddenly a boy's shrill voice rose into the sky. He traversed
the dark unseen leaving the track of his song across the hush of
the evening.
His village home lay there at the end of the waste land beyond
the sugar-cane field hidden among the shadows of the banana and
the slender areca palm the cocoa-nut and the dark green
jack-fruit trees.
I stopped for a moment in my lonely way under the starlight and
saw spread before me the darkened earth surrounding with her arms
countless homes furnished with cradles and beds mothers' hearts
and evening lamps and young lives glad with a gladness that
knows nothing of its value for the world.
ON THE SEASHORE
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is
boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet
with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand and they play with empty
shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and
smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play
on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim they know not how to cast nets.
Pearl-fishers dive for pearls merchants sail in their ships
while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek
not for hidden treasures they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter and pale gleams the smile of the
sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the
children even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with children and pale gleams the smile of the
sea-beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams
in the pathless sky ships are wrecked in the trackless water
death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless
worlds is the great meeting of children.
THE SOURCE
The sleep that flits on baby's eyes--does anybody know from where
it comes? Yes there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where
in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with
glow-worms there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there
it comes to kiss baby's eyes.
The smile that flickers on baby's lips when he sleeps--does
anybody know where it was born? Yes there is a rumour that a
young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a
vanishing autumn cloud and there the smile was first born in the
dream of a dew-washed morning--the smile that flickers on baby's
lips when he sleeps.
The sweet soft freshness that blooms on baby's limbs--does
anybody know where it was hidden so long? Yes when the mother
was a young girl it lay pervading her heart in tender and silent
mystery of love--the sweet soft freshness that has bloomed on
baby's limbs.
BABY'S WAY
If baby only wanted to he could fly up to heaven this moment.
It is not for nothing that he does not leave us.
He loves to rest his head on mother's bosom and cannot ever bear
to lose sight of her.
Baby knows all manner of wise words though few on earth can
understand their meaning.
It is not for nothing that he never wants to speak.
The one thing he wants is to learn mother's words from mother's
lips. That is why he looks so innocent.
Baby had a heap of gold and pearls yet he came like a beggar on
to this earth.
It is not for nothing he came in such a disguise.
This dear little naked mendicant pretends to be utterly helpless
so that he may beg for mother's wealth of love.
Baby was so free from every tie in the land of the tiny crescent
moon.
It was not for nothing he gave up his freedom.
He knows that there is room for endless joy in mother's little
corner of a heart and it is sweeter far than liberty to be
caught and pressed in her dear arms.
Baby never knew how to cry. He dwelt in the land of perfect
bliss.
It is not for nothing he has chosen to shed tears.
Though with the smile of his dear face he draws mother's yearning
heart to him yet his little cries over tiny troubles weave the
double bond of pity and love.
THE UNHEEDED PAGEANT
Ah who was it coloured that little frock my child and covered
your sweet limbs with that little red tunic?
You have come out in the morning to play in the courtyard
tottering and tumbling as you run.
But who was it coloured that little frock my child?
What is it makes you laugh my little life-bud?
Mother smiles at you standing on the threshold.
She claps her hands and her bracelets jingle and you dance with
your bamboo stick in your hand like a tiny little shepherd.
But what is it makes you laugh my little life-bud?
O beggar what do you beg for clinging to your mother's neck
with both your hands?
O greedy heart shall I pluck the world like a fruit from the sky
to place it on your little rosy palm?
O beggar what are you begging for?
The wind carries away in glee the tinkling of your anklet bells.
The sun smiles and watches your toilet. The sky watches over you
when you sleep in your mother's arms and the morning comes
tiptoe to your bed and kisses your eyes.
The wind carries away in glee the tinkling of your anklet bells.
The fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you flying
through the twilight sky.
The world-mother keeps her seat by you in your mother's heart.
He who plays his music to the stars is standing at your window
with his flute.
And the fairy mistress of dreams is coming towards you flying
through the twilight sky.
SLEEP-STEALER
Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
Clasping her pitcher to her waist mother went to fetch water from
the village near by.
It was noon. The children's playtime was over; the ducks in the
pond were silent.
The shepherd boy lay asleep under the shadow of the banyan
tree.
The crane stood grave and still in the swamp near the mango
grove.
In the meanwhile the Sleep-stealer came and snatching sleep from
baby's eyes flew away.
When mother came back she found baby travelling the room over on
all fours.
Who stole sleep from our baby's eyes? I must know. I must find
her and chain her up.
I must look into that dark cave where through boulders and
scowling stones trickles a tiny stream.
I must search in the drowsy shade of the bakula grove
where pigeons coo in their corner and fairies' anklets tinkle in
the stillness of starry nights.
In the evening I will peep into the whispering silence of the
bamboo forest where fireflies squander their light and will ask
every creature I meet "Can anybody tell me where the
Sleep-stealer lives?"
Who stole sleep from baby's eyes? I must know.
Shouldn't I give her a good lesson if I could only catch her!
I would raid her nest and see where she hoards all her stolen
sleep.
I would plunder it all and carry it home.
I would bind her two wings securely set her on the bank of the
river and then let her play at fishing with a reed among the
rushes and water-lilies.
When the marketing is over in the evening and the village
children sit in their mothers' laps then the night birds will
mockingly din her ears with:
"Whose sleep will you steal now?"
[Illustration: From a drawing by Asit Kumar Haldar--see
cbegin.jpg]
THE BEGINNING
"Where have I come from where did you pick me up?" the baby
asked its mother.
She answered half crying half laughing and clasping the baby to
her breast-- "You were hidden in my heart as its desire my
darling.
You were in the dolls of my childhood's games; and when with clay
I made the image of my god every morning I made and unmade you
then.
You were enshrined with our household deity in his worship I
worshipped you.
In all my hopes and my loves in my life in the life of my
mother you have lived.
In the lap of the deathless Spirit who rules our home you have
been nursed for ages.
When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals you hovered as
a fragrance about it.
Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs like a glow in
the sky before the sunrise.
Heaven's first darling twin-born with the morning light you
have floated down the stream of the world's life and at last you
have stranded on my heart.
As I gaze on your face mystery overwhelms me; you who belong to
all have become mine.
For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What magic
has snared the world's treasure in these slender arms of mine?"
BABY'S WORLD
I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby's very
own world.
I know it has stars that talk to him and a sky that stoops down
to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and rainbows.
Those who make believe to be dumb and look as if they never
could move come creeping to his window with their stories and
with trays crowded with bright toys.
I wish I could travel by the road that crosses baby's mind and
out beyond all bounds;
Where messengers run errands for no cause between the kingdoms of
kings of no history;
Where Reason makes kites of her laws and flies them and Truth
sets Fact free from its fetters.
WHEN AND WHY
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Unpublished Work 
