| Gitanjali |
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| Culture |
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INTRODUCTION
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the Renaissance the writing of European saints however familiar
their metaphor and the general structure of their thought I has
ceased to hold our attention. We know that we must at last forsake
the world, and we are accustomed in moments of weariness or
exaltation to consider a voluntary forsaking; but how can we, who
have read so much poetry, seen so many paintings, listened to so
much music, where the cry of the flesh and the cry of the soul seems
one, forsake it harshly and rudely? What have we in common with St.
Bernard covering his eyes that they may not dwell upon the beauty of
the lakes of Switzerland, or with the violent rhetoric of the Book
of Revelations? We would, if we might, find, as in this book, words
full of courtesy. 'I have got my leave. Bid me farewell, my
brothers! I bow to you all and take my departure. Here I give back
the keys of my door | and I give up all claims to my house. I only
ask for last kind words from you. We were neighbours for long, but I
received more than I could give. Now the day has dawned and the lamp
that lit my dark corner is out. A summons has come and I am ready
for my journey.' And it is our own mood, when it is furthest from a
Kempis or John of the Cross, that cries, 'And because I love this
life, I know I shall love death as well.' Yet it is not only in our
thoughts of the parting that this book fathoms all. We had not known
that we loved God, hardly it may be that we believed in Him; yet
looking backward upon our life we discover, in our exploration of
the pathways of woods, in our delight in the lonely places of hills,
in that mysterious claim that we have made, unavailingly on the
woman that we have loved, the emotion that created this insidious
sweetness.
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