(Translated from the Bengali of Satyendranath Datta)
I OPENED MY bud when April breathed her last and the summer scorched with kisses the unwilling earth. I came half afraid and half curious, like a mischievous imp peeping at a hermit's cell.
I heard the frightened whispers of the despoiled woodland, and the Kokil gave voice, to the languor of the summer; through the fluttering leaf curtain of my birth-chamber I saw the world grim, grey, and haggard.
Yet boldly I came out strong with the faith of youth, quaffed the fiery wine from the glowing bowl of the sky, and proudly saluted the morning, I, the champa flower, who carry the perfume of the sun in my heart.

কাণ্ডারী গো,যদি এবার
              পৌঁছে থাক কূলে
হাল ছেড়ে দাও, এখন আমার    
              হাত ধরে লও তুলে।
      ক্ষণেক তোমার বনের ঘাসে
      বসাও আমায় তোমার পাশে,
      রাত্রি আমার কেটে গেছে
              ঢেউয়ের দোলায় দুলে।
কাণ্ডারী গো, ঘর যদি মোর
               না থাকে আর দূরে,
ওই যদি মোর ঘরের বাঁশি
               বাজে ভোরের সুরে,
      শেষ বাজিয়ে দাও গো চিতে
      অশ্রুজলের রাগিণীতে
      পথের বাঁশিখানি তোমার
               পথতরুর মূলে।

LET ME LIE down upon the ground beneath your footstool in perfect
gladness.
Let my garment be red with the common dust you touch with your feet.
Set me not higher than others; keep me not apart from all else.
Draw me down into a sweet lowliness.
Let my garment be red with the common dust you touch with your feet.
Let me remain the last of all your pilgrims; I shall try to reach
the lowest site which is the broadest.
They come from all sides to ask for gifts from your hands.
Let me wait till they all have had their shares; I shall be
content with the last remnant.
Let my garment be red with the common dust you touch with your feet.