হে তরু, এ ধরাতলে
      রহিব না যবে
তখন বসন্তে নব
      পল্লবে পল্লবে
তোমার মর্মরধ্বনি
      পথিকেরে কবে,
"ভালো বেসেছিল কবি
      বেঁচে ছিল যবে।'

FEEL THY release in the air, O bird,
let not thy wings be timid.
Yield not to the lure of the nest,
to the enchantment of the night.
Dost thou not feel the hidden hope
that hums in thy dream when thou sleepest
and in the expectant dark of the dawn
the silent promise that reveals itself
as it rends the veil from the face of the bud.

ON THE DAY when death will knock at thy door what wilt thou offer to him?
Oh, I will set before my guest the full vessel of my life-I will never let him go with empty hands.
All the sweet vintage of all my autumn days and summer nights, all the earnings and gleanings of my busy life will I place before him at the close of my days when death will knock at my door.