পাষাণে পাষাণে তব শিখরে শিখরে
লিখেছ, হে গিরিরাজ, অজানা অক্ষরে
কত যুগযুগান্তরের প্রভাতে সন্ধ্যায়
ধরিত্রীর ইতিবৃত্ত অনন্ত-অধ্যায়।
মহান সে গ্রন্থপত্র, তারি এক দিকে
কেবল একটি ছত্রে রাখিবে কি লিখে--
তব শৃঙ্গশিলাতলে দুদিনের খেলা,
আমাদের ক'জনের আনন্দের মেলা।

YOU CAME FOR A moment to my side and touched me with the great mystery of the woman that there is in the heart of creation.
She who is ever returning to God his own outflowing of sweetness; she is the ever fresh beauty and youth in nature; she dances in the bubbling streams and sings in the morning light; she with heaving waves suckles the thirsty earth; in her the Eternal One breaks in two in a joy that no longer may contain itself, and overflows in the pain of love.

WHEN MY mind was released
from the black cavern of oblivion
and woke up into an intolerable surprise
it found itself at the crater of a volcanic hell-fire
that spouted forth a stifling fume of insult to Man;
it witnessed the long-drawn suicidal agony of the Time-spirit
passing through convulsions of a monstrous deformity worse than death.
On its one side a defiant savagery
and the growl of homicidal drunkenness,
on the other timid powers tied to the load
of their carefully guarded hoardings,
meekly settling down to a silent safety of acquiescence
after miscalculated bursts of impatience.
At the old nations' council-chambers
plans and protests are pressed flat between the tight-shut prudent lips.
In the meanwhile across the sky rush with their blazing blasphemy
the soulless swarms of vulture-machines
carrying their missiles of ravenous passion for human entrails.
Give me power, O awful Judge,
sitting on the throne of Eternity,
give me a voice of thunder,
that I may hurl imprecation
upon this cannibal whose gruesome hunger
spares neither women nor children,
that my words of reproach may ever rock
upon the heart-throbs of a history humiliated by itself,
till this age choked and chained
finds the bed of its final rest in its ashes.