First, this is a beautiful collection of poetry, from a place of cultural history where poetry and religion are virtually one and the same. In this light, Bengali poet Tagore's own translation of his poems is a gift for those who cannot read the original.

That said, historically this collection of 103 poems has largely been altered having been published by the India Society of London in 1912. One poem has been merged from two; large portions have been removed or changed. The original Bengali version had over 150 poems. The work nevertheless helped earn Tagore the Nobel Prize in Literature.

Setting aside the historical problems, what is here remains vital, soul-felt, an amazing layering of a single small narrated life atop a larger cosmos and theology, uttered as a long prayer. In so much Western literature, we are able as readers to separate these layers of meaning: this part is literal and this is the allegory. . .  Here, however, the verse inseparably binds these layers, and author / speaker / narrated / literal / symbolic are a single organic utterance, frail in spoken voice and volatile in spirit. I wonder, then, how much more potent the original text must be.

English readers must lament that early editions like this one have no accurate capturing of the full Gitanjali (or "Song Offerings") here. Instead we have still a marvel of collected works by Tagore, and so much as possible his own translation. Love it for that. 

We are too poor to be late.
And thus it is that time goes by,
while I give it to every querulous man who claims it,
and thine altar is empty of all offerings to the last.
At the end of the day I hasten in fear lest thy gate be shut;
but if I find that yet there is time.