PARDON ME, if in my pride,
O maiden of a century, yet to be born,
I picture you reading my poems,
While the moon fills the gaps in my verse with its shower of silence.
I seem to feel your heart throb and hear you murmur,
'If I were alive today and had we met he would love me.'
I know you say to yourself,
'Only for this night let me light my lamp for him at my balcony,
though I know he may never come.'

LAY DOWN your lute, my love, leave your arms free to embrace me.
        Let your touch bring my overflowing heart to my body's utmost brink.
        Do not bend your neck and turn away your face, but offer up a kiss to me, which has been like some perfume long closed in a bud.
        Do not smother this moment under vain words, but let our hearts quake in a rush of silence sweeping all thoughts to the shoreless delight.

চারি দিকে বিবাদ বিদ্বেষ,
         মনে হয় নাই তার শেষ।
ক্ষমা যদি চিত্তে রাখি, তবে
         শান্তিলাভ হবে।