Time After Time

• ime after time I came to your gate
• with raised hands, asking for more and yet more.

You gave and gave, now in
• slow measure, now in sudden excess.

I took some, and some things I let
• drop; some lay heavy on my hands;
• some I made into playthings and broke
• them when tired; till the wrecks and
• the hoard of your gifts grew imense,
• hiding you, and the ceaseless expectation
• wore my heart out.

Take, oh take - has now become my cry.

Shatter all from this beggar's bowl;
• put out the lamp of the importunate
• watcher; hold my hands, raise me from
• the still-gathering heap of your gifts
• into the bare infinity of your uncrowded
• presence.

Rabindranath Tagore