EARLY IN THE day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat, only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean, at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies, free as waves, free from all bondage of words.
Is the time not come yet? Are there works still to do? Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.
Who knows when the chains will be off, and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset, vanish into the night?

YOU HAVE watched all night alone, your eyes are tired, sweet one!
The light of the lamp has paled, it flickers in the breeze of the dawn.
Wipe away your tears, my friend, and draw up the veil over your breast.
The autumn morning is still, the smell of the woods is in the
air, the grassy path is caressingly tender.
Let the wreath of the forlorn night lie crumpled upon the bed.
Come out in the world of the morning, gather fresh flowers in
your skirt and put on new blossoms in your hair.

     ভোলানাথ লিখেছিল,
          তিন-চারে নব্বই--
গণিতের মার্কায়
  কাটা গেল সর্বই।
     তিন চারে বারো হয়,
        মাস্টার তারে কয়;
            'লিখেছিনু ঢের বেশি'
                 এই তার গর্বই।