From Mrs. Shalian’s shelf comes another poetry wonder, printed over a hundred years ago and yet whispered as though yesterday. In our search for the future, how can we move forward without knowing the past.

Tagore in The Gardener writes,

“Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds. … ”
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