THE REAL WITH its meaning read wrong and emphasis misplaced is the unreal.

তোমার গ্রন্থ-দানের গ্রন্থি
         বাঁধিল আমার চিত্ত।
তোমার ভক্তি ঋষির মন্ত্রে
         স্মরণে রহিল নিত্য।
তব শ্রদ্ধার অমল পাত্র
ভরিয়া রহিবে দিবসরাত্র
উপনিষদের পুণ্যপদের
         অমৃত বাণীর বিত্ত॥

(From the Bengali of Satyendranath Datta)
MY FLOWERS were like milk and honey and wine; I bound them into a posy with a golden ribbon, but they escaped my watchful care and fled away and only the ribbon remains.
My songs were like milk and honey and wine, they were held in the rhythm of my beating heart, but they spread their wings and fled away, the darlings of the idle hours, and my heart beats in silence.
The beauty I loved was like milk and honey and wine, her lips like the rose of the dawn, her eyes bee-black. I kept my heart silent lest it should startle her, but she eluded me like my flowers and like my songs, and my love remains alone.