DEATH, THY servant, is at my door. He has crossed the unknown sea and brought thy call to my home.
The night is dark and my heart is fearful-yet I will take up the lamp, open my gates and bow to him my welcome. It is thy messenger who stands at my door.
I will worship him with folded hands, and with tears. I will worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart.
He will go back with his errand done, leaving a dark shadow on my morning; and in my desolate home only my forlorn self will remain as my last offering to thee.

THE STARS crowd round the virgin night
in silent awe at her loneliness
that can never be touched.

আগা বলে, আমি বড়ো, তুমি ছোটো লোক।
গোড়া হেসে বলে, ভাই, ভালো তাই হোক।
তুমি উচ্চে আছ ব'লে গর্বে আছ ভোর,
তোমারে করেছি উচ্চ এই গর্ব মোর।