বিচলিত কেন মাধবীশাখা,
     মঞ্জরী কাঁপে থরথর!
কোন্‌ কথা তার পাতায় ঢাকা
     চুপি চুপি করে মরমর!

TULSIDAS, THE poet, was wandering, deep in thought, by the Ganges, in that lonely spot where they burn their dead.
He found a woman sitting at the feet of the corpse of her dead husband, gaily dressed as for a wedding.
She rose as she saw him, bowed to him, and said, 'Permit me, Master, with your blessing, to follow my husband to heaven.'
'Why such hurry, my daughter?' asked Tulsidas. 'Is not this earth also His who made heaven?'
'For heaven I do not long,' said the woman, 'want my husband.'
Tulsidas smiled and said to her, 'Go back to your home, my child. Before the month is over you will find your husband.'
The woman went back with glad hope. Tulsidas came to her everyday and gave her high thoughts to think, till her heart was filled to the brim with divine love.
When the month was scarcely over, her neighbours came to her, asking, 'Woman, have you found your husband?'
The widow smiled and said, 'I have.'
Eagerly they asked, 'Where is he?'
'In my heart is my lord, one with me,' said the woman.

THE NOONDAY air is quivering, like gauzy wings of a dragon-fly. Roofs of the village huts brood birdlike over the drowsy households, while a Kokil sings unseen from its leafy loneliness.
The fresh liquid notes drop upon the tuneless toil of the human crowd, adding music to lovers' whispers, to mothers' kisses, to children's laughter. They flow over our thoughts, like a stream over pebbles, rounding them in beauty every unconscious moment.