Mother
I don't remember my mother
But in the middle of a game
Sometimes it seems as if a tune of a song
Echoes on my toys
It is the same tunes she hummed as she rocked my cradle
I don't remember my mother
But in the early autumn morning
The scent of acacia flowers floats in the air in the temple.
But on early autumn mornings
the scent of acacia floats in the air
and the fragrance of the morning prayers in the temple
seems to blow my mother's scent to me
I don't remember my mother
except that when I look out of my bedroom window
at the distant blue sky
it seems to me
that my mother holds my gaze
as if she were a woman of the world. My gaze
fills the sky
The Golden Flower
If I were a golden flower, and for fun
grew on a tree's high branch, and laughed and swayed in the air, and
danced on the new leaves, would you recognize me, Mother?
Would you recognize me if you called out, "Son, where are you?"
I laughed in secret, but I did not speak a word.
I will quietly open my petals and watch you work.
When you bathe, with your wet hair on your shoulders, and walk through the shade of the golden flowers
to the little courtyard where you say your prayers, you will smell the scent of the flowers,
without realizing that it comes from me.
When you have had your lunch and are sitting by the window reading the Ramayana,
and the shadow of the tree is falling on your hair and your knees,
I am going to cast my little shadow on the pages of your book,
right where you are reading.
But would you guess that this is your child's tiny shadow?
When you have taken your lamp to the cowshed at dusk,
I shall suddenly fall to the ground again,
and become your child again, and beg you to tell me stories.
"Where have you been, you bad boy?"
"I won't tell you, mom."
That's what you and I had to say then.
2. Tagore's Verses on Mother's LoveMother
I do not remember my mother,
except that in the midst of my play
sometimes there seemed to be a song echoing over my toys,
one of those songs she hummed when she rocked my cradle.
I do not remember my mother,
but in the mornings of early autumn
the scent of acacia floated in the air,
and the fragrance of the morning prayers in the temple blew to me like my mother's.
I do not remember my mother,
but I do not remember her.
I don't remember my mother,
except that when I look out of my bedroom window at the distant blue sky,
I feel that my mother's gaze on my face
fills the whole sky.
3. Poetry about mother's love TagoreAphorisms and sayings about mothers:
Mother's love is a great fire. --Roman. Roland (France)
A mother's love is never exhausted. --Goncharov (Su)
Mother's love is something simple, natural, fruitful, and never failing in a woman's heart, like a great element of life. --Balzac (French)
Women are weak, but mothers are strong. -- Hugo (French)
Mom, you are the perfect combination of mother, confidant and friend! -- Rabindranath Tagore (India)
Mother's love is not only the love of a mother for her child, but also includes the love of the child for her mother. --Munir Nasuf (Kuwait)
Mother, the only force that can bring death to its knees --Gorky
All the glory and pride of the world comes from mothers. -- Gorky
The most beautiful sound in the world is the call of a mother. --Dante
Paper Boats by Bing Xin
I never want to throw away a piece of paper,
always keep - keep
folded into a very small boat,
from the boat thrown down in the sea. in the sea.
Some were swept by the wind into the windows of the boats,
and some were wetted by the waves and stained on the bows.
I still kept folding them every day,
hoping that one of them would go where I wanted it to go.
Mother, if you see a small white boat in your dream,
do not be surprised if it comes into your dream for no reason.
It was folded with tears by your beloved daughter,
who begged it to carry her love
and sorrow home.
Eternal Mother
When the first time you open your newborn eyes
the first thing you see is the immense holiness of the human mother
the loving look and the tears of joy -
the eyes are unblinking, staring at you intently
and instinctively the heart of your hazy ignorance moves
to the rhythm of your heart.
But you couldn't express your feelings, you just flailed about
You couldn't help crying out loud
After many days and nights of nurturing
You finally sat up straight and straightened your little body
After adjusting your emotional and intellectual intelligence
You never waited, you just shouted. Never waiting, you shouted the most precious first cry of your life - mom
This is the most touching and primordial cry
No matter how many languages are spoken in the world
Only this cry is absolutely the same
There is no music, there is no poetry
There is no music, there is no poetry
There is no music, there is no poetry
There is no music, there is no poetry
There is no poetry, there is no poetry. No music, no poetry
Can be more touching than this cry
The song of the wanderer
The mountains do not want to send the sun to set
The sentimental sailor does not want to sail away.
Hope beckons.
The world outside is my paradise,
The free heart is flying.
Mother, are you worried about me?
The mother is looking at me with anxiety.
Mother do you want my life to be better?
Mother looked at me with relief.
Listen to the train gas, the whistle ......
A hand clasped tightly through the window.
A mother's love
We love our mothers too. Half brilliant, half glorious
But not the same as our mothers love us That's where the spring breeze walks
It's the stream we love
It's the ocean our mothers love Our joy
Is the smile on our mother's face
The dewdrops on the hyacinth Our pain
And round and bright It's the deep sorrow in our mother's eyes
And that
We may have traveled far and wide
but we could never leave the square of our mother's heart
April days
Sunbathing on old clothes
Thirty years ago, the coats were still in the air, and the lapels were torn, but still warm.
It was sewn heavily, and there are traces of my mother's old threads on it.
By Zhou Shouchang
Mother!
The storm in the sky came,
The bird hid in his nest;
The storm in my heart came,
I only hid in your arms.
4. Mother's Love Quotes about Rabindranath TagoreAs if
◎ Rabindranath Tagore
I don't remember my mother
except that in the middle of a game
sometimes it seems as if a tune of a song
echoed through my toys
that she was humming when she rocked my cradle
I don't remember my mother
but I don't know if I can remember my mother
but I can't know if I can remember my mother
but I don't know if I can remember her.
But on early fall mornings
the scent of acacia floats in the air
and the fragrance of morning prayers in the temple
seems to blow my mother's scent to me
I don't remember my mother
except that when I look out my bedroom window
at the long, blue sky
it's as if I feel
my mother staring at the sky, and I feel that my mother's eyes are on me.
My mother's gaze on me
fills the whole sky
!
5. What are all Tagore's poems about "mother's love"1. There is only one poem by Tagore about "mother's love" and that is "Golden Flower". The original is as follows:
The Golden Flower
Suppose I became a golden flower, and for fun
I grew on the high branches of the trees, and swayed in the air with a smile,
and danced on the new leaves, would you recognize me, mother?
Would you recognize me if you called out, "Where are you, my son?"
I laughed in secret, but I did not speak a word.
I will quietly open my petals and watch you work.
When you bathe, with your wet hair on your shoulders, and walk through the shade of the golden flowers
to the little courtyard where the prayers are said, you will smell the flowers,
without realizing that the scent comes from me.
When you have had your lunch and are sitting by the window reading the Ramayana,
and the shadow of the tree is falling on your hair and your knees,
I shall cast my little shadow on the pages of your book,
right where you are reading.
But would you guess that this is your child's tiny shadow?
When you have taken your lamp to the cowshed at dusk,
I shall suddenly fall to the ground again,
and become your child again, and beg you to tell me stories.
"Where have you been, you bad boy?"
"I won't tell you, mom."
This is what you and I had to say then.
2. Appreciation:
(1) The Golden Flower is undoubtedly another piece of work full of bold and novel imagery, the poet borrowed the "Golden Flower" as an analog to the child's heart expressed as if it were real.
(2) Usually when people write about the child's innocence and naughtiness, they can only think of writing about how cute he is, how naughty he is, and how he pouts in front of his mother, or purposely makes disobedience to draw more attention and care from his mother.
(3) Tagore's imagination is often unexpected, he chose the "golden flower" as a metaphor to deal with this common theme. Most of the great writers have this talent, good at people in the commonplace things in the dig out of the marvelous and different.
3, the writer's profile: Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), India's famous poet, literary scholar, social activist, philosopher and Indian nationalist. May 7, 1861, Rabindranath Tagore was born in Calcutta, India, in a rich aristocratic family. 1913, he became the first person to win the Nobel Prize for the book Gitanjali. Gitanjali" and became the first Asian to win the Nobel Prize for Literature. His poems contain deep religious and philosophical insights, and Tagore's poems enjoy the status of epics in India, with masterpieces such as Gitanjali, Birds of Prey, Sand in the Eyes, The Four Men, The Family and the World, The Gardener's Collection, The Crescent Moon Collection, The Last Psalm, Gora, and The Crisis of Civilization.
6. Poetry about mother's love TagoreAphorisms and sayings in praise of motherhood: Mother's love is a great flame.
--Roman. Roland (France) Mother's love is never exhausted. --Goncharov (Su) Mother's love is something simple, natural, fruitful and never failing in a woman's heart, like a great element of life.
-- Balzac (French) Women are weak, but mothers are strong. --Tagore (India) Mother's love is not only the love of the mother for the child, but also the love of the child for the mother.
-Munir Nasuf (Kuwait) Mother, the only force that can bring death to its knees - Gorky All the glory and pride in the world comes from mothers. -- Gorky There is a most beautiful sound in the world, and that is the call of a mother.
- Dante "Paper Boats" by Bing Xin I never want to throw away a piece of paper, always kept - kept folded into a very small boat, from the boat thrown down in the sea. Some were blown by the wind into the windows of the boat, and some were wetted by the waves and stained on the bow.
I am still not discouraged from stacking them every day, always hoping that one of them will flow to where I want it to go. If you see a small white boat in your dreams, mother, do not be surprised if it comes into your dreams for no reason at all.
It was folded with tears by your beloved daughter, who begged it to carry her love and sorrow home over thousands of miles. Eternal mother, when you first opened your newborn eyes, the first thing you saw was the immense holiness of a human mother, her loving gaze and tears of joy-- eyes unblinking, staring intently at you, your hazy, ignorant heart instinctively rhythmic, but unable to express affection, but only a burst of limbs fluttering, so anxious that you-- couldn't help crying out loud. -After many days and nights of nurturing, you finally sat up straight and adjusted your emotional and intellectual intelligence, and without waiting, you cried out the most precious first sound in your life, "Mama", which is the most touching and primitive sound of all, no matter how many languages the world may speak, only this cry is absolutely the same. There is no music, no poetry, that is more touching than this cry, the song of the wandering son, the mountains are unwilling to send the sun to set, and the sentimental sailor is unwilling to sail away.
Hope beckons. The world outside is my paradise, and my free heart is flying.
Mother, are you worried about me? I'm not going to be able to do that, but I'm going to be able to do it," he said. I'm not going to be able to do that, but I'm going to be able to do it," he said.
Listen to the sound of the train gas, whistle ...... across the window clasping a hand. Mother's love We love our mothers too. Half brilliant, half glorious, but not the same as our mother's love for us, that is the place where the spring breeze walks, we love the streams, our mother loves the ocean, our happiness is the smile on our mother's face, the dewdrops on the hyacinth grass, our pain, round and bright, is the deep sorrow in our mother's eyes, that's the light given by the sun, we may have walked far, far away, but we always go out of our mother's heart, the square of the moon, the day of the moon, the sun, the old clothes, the coarseness of the thirty- year-old robes and the checking of the remaining, the collar is broken, but the remaining warmth. The lapel is still warm even though it's torn.
The heavy sewing does not bear to be removed lightly, and there are traces of my mother's old threads on it. Author: Zhou Shouchang (qing) mother ah! The storm in the sky, the birds hide in his nest; the storm in my heart, I only hide in your arms.
7. Rabindranath Tagore's MotherhoodClouds and Waves %D%A Mother, the one who lives in the clouds called out to me %D%A "We play from the waking hours to the end of the day.
%D%A "We play with the golden-colored dawn, we play with the silver-white moon." %D%AI asked, "But how can I come up to you?" %D%A They replied, "Come to the edge of the earth, raise your hands to the sky, and you will be received into the clouds."
%D%A "My mother is waiting for me at home," I said, "how can I come without her?" %D%A So they smiled and floated away. %D%A But I know a better game than this, mom.
%D%AI'll be the cloud and you'll be the moon. %D%A I'll cover you with both hands, and our roof will be the green and blue sky.
%D%AThe one who lives on the waves called to me %D%A "We sing from morning to night; we travel onward and onward, and do not know what we pass." %D%AI asked, "But how can I join your group?" %D%AThey told me, "Come to the shore, stand there, close both your eyes tightly, and you will be carried on the waves."
%D%AI said, "How can I go away from my mother, who used to ask me to be at home dates in the evening!" %D%A So they smiled and danced and ran past. %D%A But I know a better game than this.
%D%AI am the wave and you are the strange shore. %D%A I run in, in, in, and smash into your lap with a laugh.
%D%And not one person in the world will know where we both are.
8. Rabindranath Tagore's poems on childishness and motherhoodToys
Child, you are so happy, sitting in the dirt all morning, juggling twigs.
I smiled as I watched you play with the broken twig.
I was busy counting, stacking numbers hour by hour.
Perhaps you were looking at me and thinking, "What a dull game, and what a waste of a good morning's work!
Child, I forgot the way to concentrate on playing twigs and mud pies.
I seek expensive toys and collect gold and silver nuggets.
You, on the other hand, go on your merry way with whatever you find, but I, on the other hand, waste my time and strength on things that I will never get.
I was struggling in my flimsy canoe to sail across the sea of desire, forgetting that I was there to play the game too.
The Astronomer
I nevertheless said, "When the full moon is round in the evening and hangs on the branches of the Kathumbo1, can anyone go and catch it?"
But my brother laughed at me and said, "My son, you are the most foolish child I have ever seen. Who can catch the moon when it is so far away?"
I said, "Brother, you are silly! When mother peers out of the window and smiles down to see us play, can you say she is far away too?"
Still my brother said, "You silly boy! But, child, where will you find a net big enough to catch the moon?"
I said, "You can naturally catch it with your hands."
But my brother laughed and said, "You are the silliest boy I have ever seen! If the moon comes nearer, you will know how big it is."
I said, "Brother, what you teach in school is useless! When mom lowers her face to kiss us, does her face seem big too?" But brother still said, "You are such a silly boy."
Clouds and Waves
Mother, the dweller in the clouds called to me
"We play from the waking hour to the termination of day.
"We play with the golden-colored dawn, we play with the silver-white moon."
I asked, "But how can I come up to you?"
They replied, "Come to the edge of the earth, raise your hands to the sky, and you will be received into the clouds."
"My mother is waiting for me at home," I said, "how can I come without her?"
So they smiled and floated away.
But I know a better game than this, mom.
I'll be the cloud and you'll be the moon.
I'll cover you with both my hands, and our roof will be the green and blue sky.
The dweller on the waves called to me
"We sing from morning to night; we travel onward and onward, and know not what we pass."
I asked, "But how can I join your party?"
They told me, "Come to the shore, stand there, close both your eyes tightly, and you will be carried on the waves."
I said, "How can I go away from my mother in the evening, when she used to ask me to be at home dates!"
So they smiled and danced as they ran past.
But I know a better game than this.
I am the wave and you are the strange shore.
I run in, in, in, and smash into your lap with a laugh.
There would be no one in the world who would know where we both are
9. Tagore's Poem in Praise of a Mother's LoveGolden Flower
Suppose I were to become a golden flower, and, for the fun of it,
grow on a high branch of a tree, and laughingly sway in the air,
and dance on a new leaf, would you recognize me, mother?
Would you recognize me if you called out, "Where are you, my son?"
I laughed in secret, but I did not speak a word.
I will quietly open my petals and watch you work.
When you bathe, with your wet hair on your shoulders, and walk through the shade of the golden flowers
to the little courtyard where the prayers are said,
you will smell the flowers,
without realizing that the scent comes from me.
When you have had your lunch and are sitting by the window reading the Ramayana,
and the shadow of the tree is falling on your hair and your knees,
I shall cast my little shadow on the pages of your book,
right where you are reading.
But would you guess that this is your child's little shadow?
When you have taken the lamp to the cowshed at dusk,
I shall suddenly fall to the ground again,
and become your child again, and beg you to tell me stories.
"Where have you been, you bad boy?"
"I won't tell you, mom."
That's what you and I had to say then.