ভুত হয়ে দেখা দিল বড়ো কোলাব্যাঙ, এক পা টেবিলে রাখে, কাঁধে এক ঠ্যাঙ। বনমালী খুড়ো বলে, -- 'করো মোরে রক্ষে, শীতল দেহটি তব বুলিয়ো না বক্ষে।' উত্তর দেয় না সে, দেয় শুধু 'ক্যাঙ'।
SHE IS STILL a child, my lord. She runs about your palace and plays, and tries to make of you a plaything as well. She heeds not when her hair tumbles down and her careless garment drags in the dust. She falls asleep when you speak to her and answers not-and the flower you give her in the morning slips to the dust from her hands. When the storm bursts and darkness is over the sky she is sleepless; her dolls lie scattered on the earth and she clings to you in terror. She is afraid that she may fail in service to you. But with a smile you watch her at her game. You know her. The child sitting in the dust is your destined bride; her play will be stilled and deepened into love.
