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.
I WAS WALKING along a path overgrown with grass, when suddenly I heard from some one behind, 'See if you know me?' I turned round and looked at her and said, I cannot remember your name.' She said, I am that first great Sorrow whom you met when you were young.' Her eyes looked like a morning whose dew is still in the air. I stood silent for some time till I said, 'Have you lost all the great burden of your tears?' She smiled and said nothing. I felt that her tears had had time to learn the language of smiles. 'Once you said,' she whispered, 'that you would cherish your grief for ever.' I blushed and said, 'Yes, but years have passed and I forget.' Then I took her hand in mine and said, 'But you have changed.' 'What was sorrow once has now become peace,' she said.
