I WAS TO GO away; still she did not speak. But I felt, from a slight quiver, her yearning arms would say: 'Ah no, not yet.'
        I have often heard her pleading hands vocal in a touch, though they knew not what they said.
        I have known those arms to stammer when, had they not, they would have become youth's garland round my neck.
        Their little gestures return to remembrance in the covert of still hours, like truants they playfully reveal things she had kept secret from me.

THE BEGGAR IN me lifted his lean hands to the starless sky and cried into night's ear with his hungry voice.
His prayers were to the blind Darkness who lay like a fallen god in a desolate heaven of lost hopes.
The cry of desire eddied round a chasm of despair, a wailing bird
circling its empty nest.
But when morning dropped anchor at the rim of the East, the beggar m me leapt and cried:
'Blessed am I that the deaf night denied me-that its coffer was empty.'
He cried, 'O Life, O Light, you are precious! and precious is the joy that at last has known you!'

দুখের বেশে এসেছ বলে
           তোমারে নাহি ডরিব হে।
    যেখানে ব্যথা তোমারে সেথা
           নিবিড় ক'রে ধরিব হে।
               আঁধারে মুখ ঢাকিলে স্বামী,
               তোমারে তবু চিনিব আমি;
               মরণরূপে আসিলে প্রভু,
                    চরণ ধরি মরিব হে--
               যেমন করে দাও-না দেখা
                    তোমারে নাহি ডরিব হে।
    নয়নে আজি ঝরিছে জল,
           ঝরুক জল নয়নে হে।
    বাজিছে বুকে, বাজুক তব
           কঠিন বাহুবাঁধনে হে।
               তুমি যে আছ বক্ষে ধরে
               বেদনা তাহা জানাক মোরে,
               চাব না কিছু, কব না কথা,
                    চাহিয়া রব বদনে হে।
               নয়নে আজি ঝরিছে জল,
                    ঝরুক জল নয়নে হে।