(Translated from the Bengali of Dwijendralal Roy)
'COME, MOON, come down, kiss my darling on the forehead,' cries the mother as she holds the baby girl in her lap while the moon smiles as it dreams. There come stealing in the dark the vague fragrance of the summer and the night-bird's songs from the shadow-laden solitude of the mango-grove. At a far-away village rises from a peasant's flute a fountain of plaintive notes, and the young mother, sitting on the terrace, baby in her lap, croons sweetly, 'Come, moon, come down, kiss my darling on the forehead.' Once she looks up at the light of the sky, and then at the light of the earth in her arms, and I wonder at the placid silence of the moon.
The baby laughs and repeats her mother's call, 'Come, moon, come down.' The mother smiles, and smiles the moonlit night, and I, the poet, the husband of the baby's mother, watch this picture from behind, unseen.

রেণু কোথায় লুকিয়ে থাকে
        ফুলের মধ্যখানে,
বাতাসেতে গন্ধ তাহার
        ছড়ায় সুদূর-পানে।

WOMAN, YOUR basket is heavy, your limbs are tired. For what distance have you set out, with what hunger of profit? The way is long and the dust is hot in the sun.
See, the lake is deep and full, its water dark like a crow's eye. The banks are sloping and tender with grass.
Dip your tired feet into the water. The noon-tide wind will pass its fingers through your hair; the pigeons will croon their sleep songs, the leaves will murmur the secrets that nestle in the shadows.
What matters it if the hours pass and the sun sets; if the way through the desolate land be lost in the waning light.
Yonder is my house, by the hedge of flowering henna; I will guide you.
I will make a bed for you, and light a lamp. In the morning when the birds are roused by the stir of milking the cows, I will waken you.