I AM THE weary earth of summer bare of life and parched.
I wait for thy shower to come down in the night when I open my breast and receive it in silence.
I long to give thee in return my songs and flowers.
But empty is my store, and only the deep sigh rises from my heart
through the withered grass.
But I know that thou wilt wait for the morning when my hours will brim with their riches.

সফলতা লভি যবে
      মাথা করি নত,
জাগে মনে আপনার
      অক্ষমতা যত।

THE BIRTH and death of the leaves are the rapid whirls of the eddy whose wider circles move slowly among stars.