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81

Adaptée du poème 81 de Gitanjali de Rabindranath Tagore La traduction française est de André Gide, et est extraite de L'offrande lyrique (Rabindranath Tagore, éditions Gallimard)
On many an idle day I've grieved over lost time Moaned and groaned and rolled my bones but there is no lost time ! You've taken every moment of mine and put it into yours Hidden in the heart of things you make seeds into sprouts Hidden in the heart of things you make buds into flowers And hidden in the heart of things you make flowers into edible things I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed one night And I imagined all the work had ended for the night But in the morning I woke up and found my house was bright What majestic treats do you still have in store for me ? A breath of death, a day of rest and o make me wealthy And in the arms of your old charms Let me forever bask Is that too much to ask ?
81.    On many an idle day have I grieved over lost time. But it is never lost, my Lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my life in thine own hands.    Hidden in the heart of things thou art nourishing seeds into sprouts, buds into blossoms, and ripening flowers into fruitfulness.    I was tired and sleeping on my idle bed and imagined all work had ceased. In the morning I woke up and found my garden full with wonders of flowers.		81.    Durant plus d'un jour de paresse j'ai pleuré sur le temps perdu. Pourtant il n'est jamais perdu, mon Seigneur ! Tu as pris dans tes mains chaque petit moment de ma vie.    Caché au coeur des choses, tu nourris jusqu'à la germination la semence, jusqu'à l'épanouissement le bouton, et la fleur mûrissante jusqu'à l'abondance du fruit.    J'étais là, sommeillant sur mon lit de paresse et je m'imaginais que tout ouvrage avait cessé. Je m'éveillai dans le matin et trouvai mon jardin plein de merveilles et de fleurs.