“Where did I come from, where did you pick me up?” the baby asked its mother.

She answered, half crying, half laughing, and clasping the baby to her breast:

“You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.

“You were in the dolls of my childhood’s games: and when with clay I made the image of my god every morning, I made and unmade you then.

“You were enshrined with our household deity, in his worship I worshiped you.

“In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, in the life of my mother you have lived.

“In the lap of the deathless spirit, who rules our home, you have been nursed for ages.

“When, in girlhood, my heart was opening its petals, you hovered as a fragrance about it.

“Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs like a glow in the sky before sunrise.

“Heaven’s first darling, twin-born with the morning light, you have floated down the stream of the world’s life, and at last you have stranded on my heart.

“As I gaze on your face mystery overwhelms me; you who belong to all who have become mine.

“For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What magic has snared the world’s treasure in these slender arms of mine?”

From “The Crescent Moon” (child poems), by Rabindranath Tagore.