MOTHER, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck with my tears of sorrow.
The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet, but mine will hang upon thy breast.
Wealth and fame come from thee and it is for thee to give or to withhold them. But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own, and when I bring it to thee as my offering thou rewardest me with thy grace.

তুমি যে তুমিই, ওগো
     সেই তব ঋণ
আমি মোর প্রেম দিয়ে
     শুধি চিরদিন।

THE SCOUTS OF a distant storm have pitched their cloud-tents in the sky the light has paled; the air is damp with tears in the voiceless shadow; of the forest.
The peace of sadness is in my heart like the brooding silence upon the master's lute before the music begins.
My world is still with the expectation of the great pain of thy coming into my life.