Gitanjali - Simple:
- My song has put off her adornments.
She has no pride of dress and decoration.
Ornaments would mar our union;
they would come between you and me;
their jingling would drown your whispers.
My poet's vanity dies in shame before your sight.
O master poet, I have sat down at your feet.
Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for you to fill with music.