# bib

id: 6524
author: Tagore, Rabindranath
title: Stray Birds
extension: .txt
mime: text/plain
words: 5963
sentence: 446
flesch: 96
cache: cache/6524.txt
txt: txt/6524.txt
summary:
  72 In my solitude of heart I feel the sigh of this widowed evening veiled with mist and rain. 67 God grows weary of great kingdoms, but never of little flowers.


id: 6520
title: The Crescent Moon
extension: .txt
mime: text/plain
words: 8875
sentence: 491
flesch: 91
cache: cache/6520.txt
txt: txt/6520.txt
summary:
  Ah, these jasmines Ah, who was it coloured that little frock Bless this little heart Child, how happy you are sitting in the dust Come and hire me Day by day I float my paper boats I am small because I am a little child If baby only wanted to, he could fly If I were only a little puppy If people came to know where my king's palace is I long to go over there Imagine, mother I only said, When in the evening I paced alone It is time for me to go, mother I want to give you something, my child I wish I could take a quiet corner Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons Mother, let us imagine we are travelling Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds Mother, the light has grown grey Mother, your baby is silly On the seashore of endless worlds When mother came back she found baby travelling the room over on all fours.


id: 6686
author: Tagore, Rabindranath
title: The Gardener
extension: .txt
mime: text/plain
words: 14120
sentence: 925
flesch: 96
cache: cache/6686.txt
txt: txt/6686.txt
summary:
  We are face to face and heart to heart, my bride and I. 83 If you do not care for merry meetings, if you must have peace, weary heart, we shall put our lamps out and silence our harps.


id: 7164
author: Tagore, Rabindranath
title: Gitanjali
extension: .txt
mime: text/plain
words: 14621
sentence: 767
flesch: 88
cache: cache/7164.txt
txt: txt/7164.txt
summary:
  I am uneasy at heart when I have to leave my accustomed shelter; I forget that there abides the old in the new, and that there also thou abidest. These verses will not lie in little well-printed books upon ladies' tables, who turn the pages with indolent hands that they may sigh over a life without meaning, which is yet all they can know of life, or be carried by students at the university to be laid aside when the work of life begins, but, as the generations pass, travellers will hum them on the highway and men rowing upon the rivers.


