We’ve made a bouquet of decorative grass.
We’ve woven a garland of night blossoms.
We’ve brought our offering
of newly ripened paddy.
Come, O goddess of Autumn,
in Your chariot of white cloud.
Come on Your pure blue path.
Come in the clean bright forest hills.
Come, wearing in Your crown
white lotuses, freshly bedewed.
Your throne is arranged
with fallen jasmine flowers
in a secret bower
on the shore of the full Ganges.
The swan looks forward to spreading her wings
beneath Your feet.
From Your lute pour out the tones
of a gentle sweet melody.
Your joyful song will wipe away
our momentary tears.
Mercifully and quickly mete out
the gift of that alchemist stone
that will flash lightning into our gloom.
Then all worrying thoughts will turn into gold.
The darkness will turn into light.
—Rabindranath Tagore
