THE EVENING was lonely for me, and I was reading a book till my heart became dry, and it seemed to me that beauty was a thing fashioned by the traders in words. Tired I shut the book and snuffed the candle. In a moment the room was flooded with moonlight.
Spirit of Beauty, how could you, whose radiance overbrims the sky, stand hidden behind a candle's tiny flame? How could a few vain words from a book rise like a mist, and veil her whose voice has hushed the heart of earth into ineffable calm?

BRING BEAUTY and order into my forlorn life, woman, as you brought them into my house when you lived. Sweep away the dusty fragments of the hours, fill the empty jars and mend all neglects. Then open the inner door of the shrine, light the candle, and let us meet there in silence before our God.

THE DAY CAME for the image from the temple to be drawn round the holy town in its chariot.
        The Queen said to the King, 'Let us go and attend the festival.'
        Only one man out of the whole household did not join in the pilgrimage. His work was to collect stalks of spear-grass to make brooms for the King's house.
        The chief of the servants said in pity to him, 'You may come with us.'
He bowed his head, saying, 'It cannot be.'
The man dwelt by the road along which the King's followers had to pass.
        And when the Minister's elephant reached this spot, he called to him and said, 'Come with us and see the God ride in his chariot!'
        I dare not seek God after the King's fashion,' said the man.
        'How should you ever have such luck again as to see the God in his chariot?' asked the Minister.
        'When God himself comes to my door,' answered the man.
        The Minister laughed loud and said, 'Fool! "When God comes to your door!" yet a King must travel to see him!'
'Who except God visits the poor?' said the man.