I WANT TO give you something, my child, for we are drifting in the stream of the world.
Our lives will be carried apart, and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope that I could buy your heart with my gifts.
Young is your life, your path long, and you drink the love we bring you at one draught and turn and run away from us.
You have your play and your playmates. What harm is there if you have no time or thought for us.
We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age to count the days that are past, to cherish in our hearts what our hands have lost for ever.
The river runs swift with a song, breaking through all barriers. But the mountain stays and remembers, and follows her with his love.

THE RAIN FELL fast. The river rushed and hissed. It licked up and swallowed the island, while I waited alone on the lessening bank with my sheaves of corn in a heap.
From the shadows of the opposite shore the boat crosses with a woman at the helm.
        I cry to her, 'Come to my island coiled round with hungry water, and take away my year's harvest.'
She comes, and takes all that I have to the last grain; I ask her to take me.
        But she says, 'No'-the boat is laden with my gift and no room is left for me.

যাহা-কিছু চেয়েছিনু একান্ত আগ্রহে
তাহার চৌদিক হতে বাহুর বেষ্টন
অপসৃত হয় যবে,
তখন সে বন্ধনের মুক্তক্ষেত্রে
যে চেতনা উদ্ভাসিয়া উঠে
প্রভাত-আলোর সাথে
দেখি তার অভিন্ন স্বরূপ।
শূন্য, তবু সে তো শূন্য নয়।
তখন বুঝিতে পারি ঋষির সে বাণী--
আকাশ আনন্দপূর্ণ না রহিত যদি
জড়তার নাগপাশে দেহ মন হইত নিশ্চল।
কোহ্যেবান্যাৎ কঃ প্রাণ্যাৎ
যদেষ আকাশ আনন্দো ন স্যাৎ।