ART THOU abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my friend? The sky groans like one in despair.
I have no sleep to-night. Ever and again I open my door and look out on the darkness, my friend!
I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path!
By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the
frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou threading thy course to come to me, my friend?

IT HAS FALLEN upon me, the service of thy singer.
In my songs I have voiced thy spring flowers, and given rhythm to thy rustling leaves.
I have sung into the hush of thy night and peace of thy morning.
The thrill of the first summer rains has passed into my tunes, and the waving of the autumn harvest.
Let not my song cease at last, my Master, when thou breakest my heart to come into my house, but let it burst into thy welcome.

১৬১
লিলি,তোমারে গেঁথেছি হারে,আপন বলে চিনি,
         তবুও তুমি রবে কি বিদেশিনী॥