YOUR SMILE was the flowers of your own fields, your talk was the rustle of your own mountain pines, but your heart was the woman that we all know.

  যশের বোঝা তুলিয়া লয়ে কাঁধে
        নামটা মোর মরে মরুক ঘুরে,
  মনটা আমার যেন অপ্রমাদে
        শান্ত হয়ে রহে অনেক দূরে।

MY KING, thou hast called me to play my flute at the roadside, that they who bear the burden of voiceless life may stop in their errands for a moment and sit and wonder before the balcony of thy palace gate; that they may see anew the ever old and find afresh what is ever about them, and say, 'The flowers are in bloom, and the birds sing.'