THE FLUTE-SOUND of a holiday music
floats in the air.
It is not the time for me to sit and brood alone.
The shiuli branches shiver
with the thrill of an impending flower-time,
the touch of the dew is over the woodland.
On the fairy web in the forest path
the light and shadow feel each other.
The tall grass sends waves of laughter to the sky in its flowers,
and I gaze upon the horizon, seeking for my song.

বাণী কহে, তোমারে যখন দেখি, কাজ,
আপনার শূণ্যতায় বড়ো পাই লাজ।
কাজ শুনি কহে, অয়ি পরিপূর্ণা বাণী,
নিজেরে তোমার কাছে দীন ব'লে জানি।

MAKE ME THY poet, 0 Night, veiled Night!
There are some who have sat speechless for ages in thy shadow; let me utter their songs.
Take me up on thy chariot without wheels, running noiselessly from world to world, thou queen in the palace of time, thou darkly beautiful!
Many a questioning mind has stealthily entered thy courtyard and roamed through thy lampless house seeking for answers.
From many a heart, pierced with the arrow of joy from the hands of the Unknown, have burst forth glad chants, shaking the darkness to its foundation.
Those wakeful souls gaze in the starlight in wonder at the treasure they have suddenly found. '
Make me their poet, 0 Night, the poet of thy fathomless silence.