MY KING'S road that lies still before my house makes my heart wistful. It stretches its beckoning hand towards me; its silence calls me out of my home; with dumb entreaties it kisses my feet at every step. It leads me on I know not to what abandonment, to what sudden gain or surprises of distress. I know not where its windings end- But my King's road that lies still before my house makes my heart wistful.
IN THE DEEP shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thou walkest, silent as night, eluding all watchers. To-day the morning has closed its eyes, heedless of the insistent calls of the loud east wind, and a thick veil has been drawn over the ever- wakeful blue sky. The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are all shut at every house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted street. Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house-do not pass by like a dream.
