মরু কহে, অধমেরে এত দাও জল,
ফিরে কিছু দিব হেন কী আছে সম্বল?
মেঘ কহে, কিছু নাহি চাই, মরুভূমি,
আমারে দানের সুখ দান করো তুমি।

THE EVENING beckons, and I would fain follow the travellers who sailed in the last ferry of the ebb-tide to cross the dark.
        Some were for home, some for the farther shore, yet all have ventured to sail.
        But I sit alone at the landing, having left my home and missed the boat: summer is gone and my winter harvest is lost.
        I wait for that love which gathers failures to sow them in tears on the dark, that they may bear fruit when day rises anew.

IT MAYBE THAT your loved ones will forsake you, but mind it not, my heart.
It may be that the creeper of your hope will be laid low in the
dust all torn, its fruits wasted,but mind it not, my heart
It may be that the dark night will overtake you before you reach
the gate, and your attempts will ever be in vain to light your lamp.
When you tune your harp, the birds and the beasts of the
wilderness will flock around you. It may be that your brothers will remain unmoved,
but mind it not, my heart.
The walls are of stones, the doors barred. It may be that you
will knock oft and again, yet it will not open, but mind it not, my heart.