পরিণয় বার্ষিকী
    শ্রীমতী রানী ও শ্রীমান প্রশান্ত
মিলনের রথ চলে জীবনের
             পথে দিনেরাতে
বৎসরে বৎসরে আসে কালের
             নূতন সীমানাতে,
চিরযাত্রী ঋতু যথা বসন্তের
             আনন্দ মন্দিরে
ফাল্গুনে ফাল্গুনে আনে মাধুরীর
             অর্ঘ্য ফিরে ফিরে॥

THE FLOOD, at last, has come upon
your dry river-bed.
Cry for the boatman,
cut the cordage,
launch the boat.
Take your oars, my comrades,
your debt has grown heavy,
for you have spent idle days at the landing,
hesitating to buy and sell.
Pull up the anchor,
set the sails,
let happen what may.

TIRED OF waiting, you burst your bonds, impatient flowers, before the winter had gone. Glimpses of the unseen comer reached your wayside watch, and you rushed out running and panting, impulsive jasmines, troops of riotous roses.
You were the first to march to the breach of death, your clamour of colour and perfume troubled the air. You laughed and pressed and pushed each other, bared your breast and dropped in heaps.
The Summer will come in its time, sailing in the floodtide of the south wind. But you never counted slow moments to be sure of him. You recklessly spent your all in the road, in the terrible joy of faith.
You heard his footsteps from afar, and flung your mantle of death for him to tread upon. Your bonds break even before the rescuer is seen, you make him your own ere he can come and claim you.