It is time for me to go, mother; I am going. br When in the paling darkness of the lonely dawn you stretch out br your arms for your baby in the bed, I shall say, "Baby is not br here!"-mother, I am going. br I shall become a delicate draught of air and caress you and br I shall be ripples in the water when you bathe, and kiss you and br kiss you again. br In the gusty night when the rain patters on the leaves you br will hear my whisper in your bed, and my laughter will flash with br the lightning through the open window into your room. br If you lie awake, thinking of your baby till late into the br night, I shall sing to you from the stars, "Sleep, mother, sleep." br One the straying moonbeams I shall steal over your bed, and br lie upon your bosom while you sleep. br I shall become a dream, and through the little opening of your br eyelids I shall slip into the depths of your sleep; and when you br wake up and look round startled, like a twinkling firefly I shall br flit out into the darkness. br When, on the great festival of puja, the neighbours' children br come and play about the house, I shall melt into the music of the br flute and throb in your heart all day. br Dear auntie will come with puja-presents and will ask,"Where br is our baby, sister?" Mother, you will tell her softly, "He is in br the pupils of my eyes, he is in my body and in my soul.