Читать книгу Gitanjali & Fruit-Gathering - Rabindranath Tagore - Страница 44
XXXIX
ОглавлениеThe wall breaks asunder, light, like divine laughter, bursts in.
Victory, O Light!
The heart of the night is pierced!
With your flashing sword cut in twain the tangle of doubt and feeble desires!
Victory!
Come, Implacable!
Come, you who are terrible in your whiteness.
O Light, your drum sounds in the march of fire, and the red torch is held on high; death dies in a burst of splendour!
