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?
THE JOY RAN from all the world to build my body. The lights of the skies kissed and kissed her till she woke. Flowers of hurrying summers sighed in her breath and voices of winds and water sang in her movements. The passion of the tide of colours in clouds and in forests flowed into her life, and the music of all things caressed her limbs into shape. She is my bride,-she has lighted her lamp in my house.