ON THE seashore of endless worlds children meet. The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather-pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships get wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.

YOU MAKER of pictures,
a ceaseless traveller among men and things,
rounding them up in your net of vision
and bringing them out in lines
far above their social value and market price.
Yonder colony of the outcaste,
its crowd of rustic roofs,
and an empty field in the background
scorched by the angry April sun
are hurriedly passed by and never missed,
till your wayfaring lines spoke out;
they are there,
and we started up and said, indeed they are.
Those nameless tramps fading away every moment into shadows
were rescued from their nothingness
and compelled us to acknowledge
a greater appeal of the real in them
than is possessed by the rajahs
who lavish money on their portraits of dubious worth
for fools to gape at in wonder.
You ignored the mythological steed of paradise
when your eyes were caught by a goat
who is only noticed with our expostulation
when straying on our brinjal plot.
You brought out its own majesty of goatliness in your lines
and our mind woke up into a surprise.
The poor goat-seller remains ignorant of the fact
that the picture does not represent the commonplace beast that is
his own,
but it is a discovery.

     তবু মনে রেখো, যদি দূরে যাই চলি,
     সেই পুরাতন প্রেম যদি এক কালে
     হয়ে আসে দূরস্মৃত কাহিনী কেবলি--
     ঢাকা পড়ে নব নব জীবনের জালে।
     তবু মনে রেখো, যদি বড়ো কাছে থাকি,
     নূতন এ প্রেম যদি হয় পুরাতন,
     দেখে না দেখিতে পায় যদি শ্রান্ত আঁখি--
     পিছনে পড়িয়া থাকি ছায়ার মতন।
     তবু মনে রেখো, যদি তাহে মাঝে মাঝে
     উদাস বিষাদভরে কাটে সন্ধ্যাবেলা,
     অথবা শারদ প্রাতে বাধা পড়ে কাজে,
     অথবা বসন্ত-রাতে থেমে যায় খেলা।
     তবু মনে রেখো, যদি মনে প'ড়ে আর
     আঁখিপ্রান্তে দেখা নাহি দেয় অশ্রুধার।