THOU ART THE sky and thou art the nest as well. 0 thou beautiful, there in the nest it is thy love that encloses the soul with colours and sounds and odours. There comes the morning with the golden basket in her right hand bearing the wreath of beauty, silently to crown the earth. And there comes the evening over the lonely meadows deserted by herds, through trackless paths, carrying cool draughts of peace in her golden pitcher from the western ocean of rest. But there, where spreads the infinite sky for the soul to take her flight in, reigns the stainless white radiance. There is no day nor night, nor form nor colour, and never, never a word.
DO NOT LEAVE me and go, for it is night. The road through the wilderness is lonely and dark and lost in tangles: The tired earth lies still, like one blind and without a staff. I seem to have waited for this moment for ages to light my lamp and cull my flowers. I have reached the brink of the shoreless sea to take my plunge and lose myself for ever.
