IF THERE is nothing but pain in loving then why is this love? What folly is this to claim her heart because you have offered her your own! With the desire burning in your blood and madness glowing in your eyes why is this circling of a desert? He bankers for nothing in the world who is in possession of himself; the sweet air of the spring is for him, the flowers, the bird songs; but love comes like a devouring shadow effacing the whole world, eclipsing life and youth. Then why seek this mist that darkens existence?
LAST NIGHT IN the garden I offered you my youth's foaming wine. You lifted the cup to your lips, you shut your eyes and smiled while I raised your veil, unbound your tresses, drawing down upon my breast your face sweet with its silence, last night when the moon's dream overflowed the world of slumber. To-day in the dew-cooled calm of the dawn you are walking to God's temple, bathed and robed white, with a basketful of flowers in your hand. I stand aside in the shade under the tree, with my head bent, in the calm of the dawn by the lonely road to the temple.