LET THE LINKS of my shackles snap at every step of thy dance,
O Lord of Dancing,
and let my heart wake in the freedom of the eternal voice.
Let it feel the touch of that foot that ever sets swinging the
lotus-seat of the muse,
and with its perfume maddens the air through ages.
Rebellious atoms are subdued into forms at thy dance-time,
the suns and planets,anklets of light,twirl round thy moving feet, and, age after age. Things struggle to wake from dark slumber,
through pain of life, into consciousness,
and the ocean of thy bliss breaks out in tumults of suffering and joy.
Before I leave, tinge my heart in secret with thine own colour,
the colour of the young smile, of tears shaded with ancient sadness.
Let it tinge my thoughts, my deeds, the flame of my evening lamp,
the waking moment of my midnight.
Before I leave, rouse my heart with the swing of thy dancing feet, the swing that wakens stars in the deep of night,
frees the stream from the rocky cave,
gives voice to clouds in thunder and rain,
the swing by which the balance in the centre of existence is
swayed in endless cycles of movement.

  আমায়  অমনি খুশি করে রাখো
                কিছুই না দিয়ে--
            শুধু তোমার বাহুর ডোরে
                বাহু বাঁধিয়ে।
            এমনি ধূসর মাঠের পারে
            এমনি সাঁঝের অন্ধকারে
            বাজাও আমার প্রাণের তারে
                গভীর ঘা দিয়ে।
  আমায়  অমনি রাখো বন্দী করে
                কিছুই না দিয়ে।
  আমি    আপনাকে আজ বিছিয়ে দেব
                কিছুই না করি,
            দু হাত মেলে দিয়ে, তোমার
                চরণ পাকড়ি।
            আষাঢ়-রাতের সভায় তব
            কোনো কথাই নাহি কব,
            বুক দিয়ে সব চেপে লব
                নিখিল আঁকড়ি।
  আমি    রাতের সাথে মিশিয়ে রব
                কিছুই না করি।
  আজ    বাদল-হাওয়ায় কোথা রে জুঁই
                গন্ধে মেতেছে।
            লুপ্ত তারার মালা কে আজ
                 লুকিয়ে গেঁথেছে।
            আজি নীরব অভিসারে
            কে চলেছে আকাশপারে,
            কে আজি এই অন্ধকারে
                শয়ন পেতেছে।
  আজ    বাদল-হাওয়ায় জুঁই আপনার
                গন্ধে মেতেছে।
  ওগো,  আজকে আমি  সুখে রব
                কিছুই না নিয়ে--
            আপন হতে আপন-মনে
                সুধা ছানিয়ে।
            বনে হতে বনান্তরে
            ঘনধারায় বৃষ্টি ঝরে
            নিদ্রাবিহীন নয়ন-'পরে
                স্বপন বানিয়ে।
  ওগো,  আজকে পরান ভরে লব
                কিছুই না নিয়ে।

I ASKED nothing from thee; I uttered not my name to thine ear. When thou took'st thy leave I stood silent. I was alone by the well where the shadow of the tree fell aslant, and the women had gone home with their brown earthen pitchers full to the brim. They called me and shouted, 'Come with us, the morning is wearing on to noon.' But I languidly lingered awhile lost in the midst of vague musings.
I heard not thy steps as thou earnest. Thine eyes were sad when they fell on me; thy voice was tired as thou spokest low-'Ah, I am a thirsty traveller.' I started up from my day-dreams and poured water from my jar on thy joined palms. The leaves rustled overhead; the cuckoo sang from the unseen dark, and perfume of babla flowers came from the bend of the road.
I stood speechless with shame when my name thou didst ask. Indeed, what had I done for thee to keep me in remembrance? But the memory that I could give water to thee to allay thy thirst will cling to my heart and enfold it in sweetness. The morning hour is late, the bird sings in weary notes, neem leaves rustle overhead and I sit and think and think.