THE JOY RAN from all the world to build my body. The lights of the skies kissed and kissed her till she woke. Flowers of hurrying summers sighed in her breath and voices of winds and water sang in her movements. The passion of the tide of colours in clouds and in forests flowed into her life, and the music of all things caressed her limbs into shape. She is my bride,-she has lighted her lamp in my house.
পেঁচোটাকে মাসি তার যত দেয় আস্করা, মুশকিল ঘটে তত এক সাথে বাস করা। হঠাৎ চিমটি কাটে কপালের চামড়ায়-- বলে সে, 'এমনি ক'রে ভিমরুল কামড়ায়।' আমার বিছানা নিয়ে খেলা ওর চাষ-করা-- মাথার বালিশ থেকে তুলোগুলো হ্রাস-করা।
THE MORNING-light aches with the pain of parting. Poet, take up thy flute! Let be, if thou must depart, and go, leaving thy song to the flowers in this dew-dripping autumn. Such a morning will come again at the gold-tinted border of the East with kunda flowers in her locks. In the shady garden path, plaintive with dove's cooing, tender with the caressing enchantment of the green, will rise again the vision of this light, her steps tinkling with the anklet of thine own songs. Let be, if thou must depart.
