YOU TOOK MY hand and drew me to your side, made me sit on the high seat before all men, till I became timid, unable to stir and walk my own way; doubting and debating at every step lest I should tread upon any thorn of their disfavour. I am freed at last! The blow has come, the drum of insult sounded, my seat is laid low in the dust. My paths are open before me. My wings are full of the desire of the sky. I go to join the shooting stars of midnight, to plunge into the profound shadow. I am like the storm-driven cloud of summer that, having cast off its crown of gold, hangs as a sword the thunderbolt upon a chain of lightning. In desperate joy I run upon the dusty path of the despised; I draw near to your final welcome. The child finds its mother when it leaves her womb. When I am parted from you, thrown out from your household, I am free to see your face.
IF, BY chance you think of me, I shall sing to you when the rainy evening loosens her shadows upon the river, slowly trailing her dim light towards the west,-when the day's remnant is too narrow for work or for play. You will sit alone in the balcony of the south, and I shall sing from the darkened room. In the growing dusk, the smell of the wet leaves will come through the window; and the stormy winds will become clamorous in the coconut grove. When the lighted lamp is brought into the room I shall go. And then, perhaps, you will listen to the night, and hear my song when I am silent.
