আর        নাই রে বেলা, নামল ছায়া
      ধরণীতে,
এখন        চল্‌ রে ঘাটে কলসখানি
                    ভরে নিতে।
                           জলধারার কলস্বরে
                           সন্ধ্যাগগন আকুল করে,
       ওরে               ডাকে আমায় পথের 'পরে
                                  সেই ধ্বনিতে।
                           চল্‌ রে ঘাটে কলসখানি
                                  ভরে নিতে।
এখন        বিজন পথে করে না কেউ
                           আসা-যাওয়া,
       ওরে        প্রেম-নদীতে উঠেছে ঢেউ,
                           উতল হাওয়া।
                                  জানি নে আর ফিরব কিনা,
                                  কার সাথে আজ হবে চিনা,
              ঘাটে               সেই অজানা বাজায় বীণা
                                         তরণীতে।
                                  চল্‌ রে ঘাটে কলসখানি
                                         ভরে নিতে।

I CAME TO your shore as a stranger, I lived in your house as a guest, I leave your door as a friend, my earth.

A PAINTER was selling pictures at the fair; followed by servants, there passed the son of a minister who in youth had cheated this painter's father so that he had died of a broken heart.
        The boy lingered before the pictures and chose one for himself. The painter flung a cloth over it and said he would not sell it.
        After this the boy pined heart-sick till his father came and offered a large price. But the painter kept the picture unsold on his shop-wall and grimly sat before it, saying to himself, 'This is my revenge.'
The sole form this painter's worship took was to trace an image of his god every morning.
        And now he felt these pictures grow daily more different from those he used to paint.
        This troubled him, and he sought in vain for an explanation till one day he started up from work in horror, the eyes of the god he had just drawn were those of the minister, and so were the lips.
        He tore up the picture, crying, 'My revenge has returned on my head!'