MEMORY, THE priestess, kills the present
and offers its heart to the shrine of the dead past

কেমন সুন্দর আহা ঘুমায়ে রয়েছে
চাঁদের জোছনা এই সমুদ্রবেলায়!
এসো প্রিয়ে এইখানে বসি কিছুকাল;
গীতস্বর মৃদু মৃদু পশুক শ্রবণে!
সুকুমার নিস্তব্ধতা আর নিশীথিনী--
সাজে ভালো মর্ম-ছোঁয়া সুধা-সংগীতেরে।
বইস জেসিকা, দেখো, গগন-প্রাঙ্গণ
জলৎ কাঞ্চন-পাতে খচিত কেমন!
এমন একটি নাই তারকামণ্ডল
দিব্য গীত যে না গায় প্রতি পদক্ষেপে!
অমর আত্মাতে হয় এমনি সংগীত।
কিন্তু ধূলিময় এই মর্ত্য-আবরণ
যতদিন রাখে তারে আচ্ছন্ন করিয়া
ততদিন সে সংগীত পাই না শুনিতে।

'WHY THESE preparations without end?'-I said to Mind-'Is some one to come?'
Mind replied, I am enormously busy gathering things and building towers. I have no time to answer such questions.'
Meekly I went back to my work.
When things were grown to a pile, when seven wings of his palace were complete, I said to Mind, Is it not enough?'
Mind began to say, 'Not enough to contain-' and then stopped.
'Contain what?' I asked.
Mind affected not to hear.
I suspected that Mind did not know, and with ceaseless work
smothered the question.
His one refrain was, I must have more.'
'Why must you?'
'Because it is great.'
'What is great?'
Mind remained silent. I pressed for an answer.
In contempt and anger. Mind said, 'Why ask about things that are not? Take notice of those that are hugely before you,-the struggle and the fight, the army and armaments, the bricks and mortar, and labourers without number.'
I thought 'Possibly Mind is wise.'
DAYS PASSED. More wings were added to his palace -- more lands to his domain.
The season of rains came to an end. The dark clouds became white and thin, and in the rain-washed sky the sunny hours hovered like butterflies over an unseen flower. I was bewildered and asked everybody I met, 'What is that music in the breeze?'
A tramp walked the road whose dress was wild as his manner; he said, 'Hark to the music of the Coming!'
I cannot tell why I was convinced, but the words broke from me, 'We have not much longer to wait.'
It is close at hand,' said the mad man.
I went to the office and boldly said to Mind, 'Stop all work!'
Mind asked, 'Have you any news?'
'Yes,' I answered, 'News of the Coming.' But I could not explain.
Mind shook his head and said, 'There are neither banners nor pageantry!'
THE NIGHT waned, the stars paled in the sky. Suddenly the touchstone of the morning light tinged everything with gold. A cry spread from mouth to mouth-
'Here is the herald!'
I bowed my head and asked, 'Is he coming?'
The answer seemed to burst from all sides, 'Yes.'
Mind grew troubled and said, 'The dome of my building is not yet finished, nothing is in order.'
A voice came from the sky, 'Pull down your building!'
'But why?' asked Mind.
'Because to-day is the day of the Coming, and your building is in the way.'
THE LOFTY building lies in the dust and all is scattered and broken.
Mind looked about. But what was there to see?
Only the morning star and the lily washed in dew.
And what else? A child running laughing from its mother's arms into the open light.
'Was it only for this that they said it was the day of the Coming?'
'Yes, this was why they said there was music in the air and light in the sky.'
'And did they claim all the earth only for this?'
'Yes,' came the answer. 'Mind, you build walls to imprison yourself.
Your servants toil to enslave themselves; but the whole earth and infinite space are for the child, for the New Life.'
'What does that child bring you?'
'Hope for all the world and its joy.'
Mind asked me, 'Poet, do you understand?'
I lay my work aside,' I said, 'for I must have time to understand.'