THOU ART THE sky and thou art the nest as well.
0 thou beautiful, there in the nest it is thy love that encloses the soul with colours and sounds and odours.
There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand bearing the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth.
And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted by herds, through trackless paths, carrying cool draughts of peace in her golden pitcher from the western ocean of rest.
But there, where spreads the infinite sky for the soul to take her flight in, reigns the stainless white radiance. There is no day nor night, nor form nor colour, and never, never a word.

১০৮
প্রজাপতি পায় অবকাশ
          ভালোবাসিবারে কমলেরে।
মধুকর সদা বারোমাস
          মধু খুঁজে খুঁজে শুধু ফেরে॥      

DO NOT CALL him to thy house, the dreamer,
who walks alone by thy path
in the night.
His words are those of a strange land,
and strange is the melody
played by him on his one-stringed lute.
There is no need for thee to spread a seat for him;
he will depart before day-break.
For in the feast of freedom
he is asked to sing
the praise of the new-born light.