DEITY OF THE ruined temple! The broken strings of Vina sing no more your praise. The bells in the evening proclaim not your time of worship. The air is still and silent about you.
In your desolate dwelling comes the vagrant spring breeze. It brings the tidings of flowers-the flowers that for your worship are offered no more.
Your worshipper of old wanders ever longing for favour still refused. In the eventide, when fires and shadows mingle with the gloom of dust, he wearily comes back to the ruined temple with hunger in his heart.
Many a festival day comes to you in silence, deity of the ruined temple. Many a night of worship goes away with lamp unlit.
Many new images are built by masters of cunning art and carried to the holy stream of oblivion when their time is come.
Only the deity of the ruined temple remains unworshipped in deathless neglect.

প্রভু আমার, প্রিয় আমার, পরমধন হে।
চির পথের সঙ্গী আমার চিরজীবন হে।
     তৃপ্তি আমার অতৃপ্তি মোর,
     মুক্তি আমার বন্ধনডোর,
দুঃখসুখের চরম আমার জীবনমরণ হে।
আমার সকল গতির মাঝে পরম গতি হে।
নিত্য প্রেমের ধামে আমার পরম পতি হে।
     ওগো সবার, ওগো আমার,
     বিশ্ব হতে চিত্তে বিহার--
অন্তবিহীন লীলা তোমার নূতন নূতন হে।

I THOUGHT I had something to say to her when our eyes met across the hedge. But she passed away. And it rocks day and night, like a boat, on every wave of the hours the word that I had to say to her. It seems to sail in the autumn clouds in an endless quest and to bloom into evening flowers seeking its lost moment in the sunset. It twinkles like fireflies in my heart to find its meaning in the dusk of despair the word that I had to say to her.