বসন্ত আওল রে!
  মধুকর গুন গুন, অমুয়ামঞ্জরী
কানন ছাওল রে।
  শুন শুন সজনী হৃদয় প্রাণ মম
হরখে আকুল ভেল,
  জর জর রিঝসে দুখ জ্বালা সব
দূর দূর চলি গেল।
      মরমে বহই বসন্তসমীরণ,
মরমে ফুটই ফুল,
   মরমকুঞ্জ'পর বোলই কুহু কুহু
অহরহ কোকিলকুল।
  সখি রে উছসত প্রেমভরে অব
ঢলঢল বিহ্বল প্রাণ,
নিখিল জগত জনু হরখ-ভোর ভই
গায় রভসরসগান।
     বসন্তভূষণভূষিত ত্রিভুবন
কহিছে দুখিনী রাধা,
কঁহি রে সো প্রিয়, কঁহি সো প্রিয়তম,
হৃদিবসন্ত সো মাধা?
ভানু কহত অতি গহন রয়ন অব,
বসন্তসমীর শ্বাসে
   মোদিত বিহ্বল চিত্তকুঞ্জতল
ফুল্ল বাসনা-বাসে।

AN OLDISH upcountry man tall and lean,
with shaven shrunken cheeks like wilted fruits,
jogging along the road to the market town
in his patched up pair of country-made shoes
and a short tunic made of printed chintz,
a frayed umbrella tilted over his head,
a bamboo stick under his armpit.
It is a sultry morning of August,
the light is vague filtering through thin white clouds.
The last night seemed smothered
under a damp black blanket:
and today a sluggish wind
is fitfully stirring a dubious response
among amlaki leaves.
The stranger passed by the hazy skyline of my mind,
a mere person,
with no definition, no care that may trouble him,
no needs for any the least thing.
And I appeared to him for a moment
at the farthest limit of the unclaimed land of his life,
in the grey mist that separates one
from all relations.
I imagine he has his cow in his stall,
a parrot in the cage,
his wife with bangles round her arms,
grinding wheat,
the washerman for his neighbour,
the grocer's shop across the lane,
a harassing debt to the man from Peshawar,
and somewhere my own indistinct self
only as a passing person.

IN MY LIFE'S garden
my wealth has been of the shadows and lights
that are never gathered and stored.