YOUR SPEECH is simple, my Master, but not theirs who talk of you.
I understand the voice of your stars and the silence of your trees.
I know that my heart would open like a flower; that my life has filled itself at a hidden fountain.
Your songs, like birds from the lonely land of snow, are winging to build their nests in my heart against the warmth of its April, and I am content to wait for the merry season.

IN THE mountain, stillness surges up
to explore its own height;
in the lake, movement stands still
to contemplate its own depth.

খেলার খেয়াল বশে কাগজের তরী
স্মৃতির খেলনা দিয়ে দিয়ে গেনু ভরি।
যদি ঘাটে গিয়ে ঠেকে প্রভাতবেলায়
তুলে নিয়ো তোমাদের প্রাণের খেলায়।