এখনো অঙ্কুর যাহা
      তারি পথপানে
প্রত্যহ প্রভাতে রবি
      আর্শীবাদ আনে।

DELIVER ME from my own shadows, my lord, from the wrecks and confusion of my days.
For the night is dark and thy pilgrim is blinded,
Hold thou my hand.
Deliver me from despair.
Touch with thy flame the lightless lamp of my sorrow.
Waken my tired strength from its sleep.
Do not let me linger behind counting my losses.
Let the road sing to me of the house at every Step.
For the night is dark, and thy pilgrim is blinded.
Hold thou my hand.

IN THE YOUTH of the world, Himalaya, you sprang from the rent breast of the earth, and hurled your burning challenges to the sun, hill after hill. Then came the mellow time when you said to yourself, 'No more, no further!' and your fiery heart, that raged for the freedom of clouds, found its limits, and stood still to salute the limitless. After this check on your passion, beauty was free to play upon your breast, and trust surrounded you with the joy of flowers and birds.
You sit in your solitude like a great reader, on whose lap lies open some ancient book with its countless pages of stone. What story is written there, I wonder?is it the eternal wedding of the divine ascetic, Shiva, with Bhavani, the divine love?the drama of the Terrible wooing the power of the Frail?