এই তো তোমার প্রেম,ওগো
              হৃদয়হরণ।
এই-যে পাতায় আলো নাচে
              সোনার বরন।
                    এই-যে মধুর আলসভরে
                    মেঘ ভেসে যায় আকাশ-'পরে,
                    এই-যে বাতাস দেহে করে
                           অমৃত ক্ষরণ।
                    এই তো তোমার প্রেম,ওগো
                            হৃদয়হরণ।
প্রভাত-আলোর ধারায় আমার
       নয়ন ভেসেছে।
এই তোমারি প্রেমের বাণী
       প্রাণে এসেছে।
              তোমারি মুখ ওই নুয়েছে,
              মুখে আমার চোখ থুয়েছে,
              আমার হৃদয় আজ ছুঁয়েছে
                     তোমারি চরণ।

I HEAR SOME rustle of things behind my sadness of heart,1 cannot see them.

PILGRIM, THE night of the weary old year is ended.
The blazing sun brings on your path the call of the Destroyer,
the fiery scourge for pollutions of the past.
A thin line of distance stretches along the road
like a fine-drawn note from the one-stringed lute of a beggar
seeking the way he has lost.
Let the grey dust of the road
take you up in her arms,
lead you away from the clasp of clinging reluctance!
Not for you is the music of the home,
the light of the evening lamp,
the wistful gaze of the lover keeping watch.
You have ever claimed the boon of Life
which is not in pleasure nor in peace or comfort,
wherefore the time has come for you
for rejection at every door.
The Cruel One has come,
the bolts and bars of your gate are broken,
your wine vessel shattered;
take his hand whom you do not know
and dare not understand.
Never fear, pilgrim!
Turn not away from the terror of Truth,
nor be afraid of the phantom of the unreal,
take your last gift from him
who takes away everything.
Has the old night ended?
Then let it end!