The Gardener 1919
by Rabindranath Tagore
Who are you, reader,
reading my poems an hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower
from this wealth of the spring,
one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.
Open your doors and look abroad from your blossoming garden
gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers
of an hundred years before.
In the joy of your heart may you feel living joy
that sang one spring morning,
sending its glad voice across an hundred years.