THE SPRING with its leaves and flowers has come into my body.
The bees hum there the morning long, and the winds idly play with the shadows.
A sweet fountain springs up from the heart of my heart.
My eyes are washed with delight like the dew-bathed morning, and life is quivering in all my limbs like the sounding strings-of the lute.
Are you wandering alone by the shore of my life, where the tide is in flood, 0 lover of my endless days?
Are my dreams flitting round you like the moths with their many-
coloured wings?
And are those your songs that are echoing in the dark caves of my being?
Who but you can hear the hum of the crowded hours that sounds in my veins to-day, the glad steps that dance in my breast, the clamour of the restless life beating its wings in my body?

THE NIGHT darkened. Our day's works had been done. We thought that the last guest had arrived for the night and the doors in the village were all shut. Only some said, The king was to come. We laughed and said 'No, it cannot be!'
It seemed there were knocks at the door and we said it was nothing but the wind. We put out the lamps and lay down to sleep. Only some said. It is the messenger!' We laughed and said 'No, it must be the wind!'
There came a sound in the dead of the night We sleepily thought it was the distant thunder. The earth shook, the wails rocked, and it troubled us in our sleep. Only some said, it was the sound of wheels. We said in a drowsy murmur, 'No, it must be the rumbling of clouds!'
The night was still dark when the drum sounded. The voice came 'Wake up! delay not!' We pressed our hands on our hearts and shuddered with fear. Some said, 'Lo, there is the king's flag!' We stood up on our feet and cried 'There is no time for delay!'
The king has come-but where are lights, where are wreaths? Where is the throne to seat him? Oh, shame. Oh utter shame! Where is the hall, the decorations? Some one has said, 'Vain is this cry! Greet him with empty hands, lead him into thy rooms all bare!'
Open the doors, let the conch-shells be sounded! In the depth of the night has come the king of our dark, dreary house. The thunder roars in the sky. The darkness shudders with lightning. Bring out thy tattered piece of mat and spread it in the courtyard. With the storm has come of a sudden our king of the fearful night.

I KNOW THAT the day will come when my sight of this earth shall be lost, and life will take its leave in silence, drawing the last curtain over my eyes.
Yet stars will watch at night, and morning rise as before, and hours heave like sea waves casting up pleasures and pains.
When I think of this end of my moments, the barrier of the moments breaks and I see by the light of death thy world with its careless treasures. Rare is its lowliest seat, rare is its meanest of lives.
Things that I longed for in vain and things that I got-let them pass. Let me but truly possess the things that I ever spurned and overlooked.