যে ছবিতে ফোটে নাই
     সবগুলি রেখা
সেও তো, হে শিল্পী, তব
     নিজ হাতে লেখা।
অনেক মুকুল ঝরে,
     না পায় গৌরব--
তারাও রচিবে তব
     বসন্ত উৎসব।

I KNOW THAT at the dim end of some day the sun will bid me its last farewell.
Shepherds will play their pipes beneath the banyan trees, and cattle graze on the slope by the river, while my days will pass into the dark.
This is my prayer, that I may know before I leave why the earth called me to her arms.
Why her night's silence spoke to me of stars, and her daylight kissed my thoughts into flower.
Before I go may I linger over my last refrain, completing its music, may the lamp be lit to see your face and the wreath woven to crown you.

THE DARKLY veiled June has come once again
redolent of the rain-soaked earth;
my heart that had grown weary and old
answers to the call of the marching clouds,
overcome with the sudden rush of life's turbulence.
Shadows sweep over the young grass
on the vast lonely meadows;
and my blood surges up with the cry:
It has come, has come to my eyes, to my breast,
to my voice that sings in gladness.