বসন্তে আজ ধরার চিত্ত
     হল উতলা।
বুকের 'পরে দোলে রে তার
     পরান-পুতলা।
আনন্দেরি ছবি দোলে
দিগন্তেরি কোলে কোলে,
গান দুলিছে,নীলাকাশের
     হৃদয়-উথলা।
আমার দুটি মুগ্ধনয়ন
     নিদ্রা ভুলেছে।
আজি আমার হৃদয়-দোলায়
     কে গো দুলিছে।
দুলিয়ে দিল সুখের রাশি
লুকিয়ে ছিল যতেক হাসি,
দুলিয়ে দিল জনমভরা
     ব্যথা-অতলা।

DO NOT CALL him to thy house, the dreamer,
who walks alone by thy path
in the night.
His words are those of a strange land,
and strange is the melody
played by him on his one-stringed lute.
There is no need for thee to spread a seat for him;
he will depart before day-break.
For in the feast of freedom
he is asked to sing
the praise of the new-born light.

BID ME AND I shall gather my fruits to bring them in full baskets into your courtyard, though some are lost and some not ripe.
For the season grows heavy with its fulness, and there is a plaintive shepherd's pipe in the shade.
Bid me and I shall set sail on the river.
The March wind is fretful, fretting the languid waves into murmurs.
The garden has yielded its all, and in the weary hour of evening the call comes from your house on the shore in the sunset.