১৪৩
হে অচেনা,তব আঁখিতে আমার
         আঁখি কারে পায় খুঁজি --
যুগান্তরের চেনা চাহনিটি
         আঁধারে লুকানো বুঝি॥

THE BOATMAN is out crossing the wild sea at night.
The mast is aching because of its full sails filled with the violent wind.
Stung with the night's fang the sky falls upon the sea, poisoned with black fear.
The waves dash their heads against the dark unseen, and the Boatman is out crossing the wild sea.
The Boatman is out, I know not for what tryst, startling the night with the sudden white of his sails.
I know not at what shore, at last, he lands to reach the silent courtyard where the lamp is burning and to find her who sits in the dust and waits.
What is the quest that makes his boat care not for storm nor darkness?
Is it heavy with gems and pearls?
Ah, no, the Boatman brings with him no treasure, but only a white rose in his hand and a song on his lips.
It is for her who watches alone at night with her lamp burning.
She dwells in the wayside hut.
Her loose hair flies in the wind and hides her eyes.
The storm shrieks through her broken doors, the light flickers in her earthen lamp flinging shadows on the walls.
Through the howl of the winds she hears him call her name, she whose name is unknown.
It is long since the Boatman sailed.
It will be long before the day breaks and he knocks at the door.
The drums will not be beaten and none will know.
Only light shall fill the house, blessed shall be the dust, and the heart glad.
All doubts shall vanish in silence when the Boatman comes to the shore.

II. 57. janh khelat vasant rituraj
WHERE SPRING, the lord of the seasons, reigneth, there the Unstruck Music sounds of itself,
There the streams of light flow in all directions;
Few are the men who can cross to that shore!
There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded,
Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads,
Where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas,
Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation,
Where millions of Indras dwell in the sky,
Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered,
Where millions of Saraswatis, Goddess of Music, play on the vina
There is my Lord self-revealed: and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps.