poem by tagor

I know that the day will come
when my sight of this earth shall be lost
and life will take its leave in silence
drawing the last curtain over my eyes.

Yet stars will watch at night
and morning rise as before
and hours heave like sea waves
casting off pleasures and pains.

When I think of this end of my moments
the barriers of the moments breaks
and I see by the light of death
your world with its careless treasures.

Rare is its lowliest treasures
rare is its meanest of lives.
Things that I longed for in vain
and things that I got, let them pass.

Let me but truly posses the things that I spurned and overlooked.