Blind Beauty

(After Rabindranath Tagore)

One morning I was walking in the park

Amongst the flowers that were lifting high

Their faces to the sun, when came a maid,

Whose eyes told me the light for her was dark.

She offered me a rose with manner shy,

Her little hand upon my coatsleeve laid.

“Is this for me?”  I asked, and I did mark

The faintest blush , the nodding head.  “But why?”

And then I stooped to kiss her, and I said,

“This lovely flower, like you, can see no spark,

No glimmer of the world where it did grow :

It does not heed the beauty of the flowers.

And you, not seeing, can you ever know

The beauty of your gift, and what is yours?”

 

Weekly Times     10.8.62