WHEN FROM THE house of feast I came back home, the spell of the midnight quieted the dance in my blood. My heart became silent at once like a deserted theatre with its lamps out. My mind crossed the dark and stood among the stars, and I saw that we were playing unafraid in the silent courtyard of our King's palace.
WHO IS THIS captive that grieves within thee thirsting for light? His lute is silent, though life's breath is abroad in the air; His eyes do not see, though morning lights the sky. Birds sing of a new awakening to the forest, the joy of new life breaks out in the tints of flowers, the night beyond the wall has vanished, yet the smoking lamp is still burning in the cell. Alas, why is there this separation between thy home and the sky?
