THE NEWS OF my love is abroad among the spring flowers. It brings to my mind the old songs. My heart of a sudden has put on green leaves of desire. My love came not but her touch is on my hair, and her voice comes across the fragrant fields in murmurs of April. Her gaze is here in the sky, but where are her eyes? Her kisses are in the air, but where are her lips?
I CLASP YOUR hands, and my heart plunges into the dark of your eyes, seeking you, who ever evade me behind words and silence. Yet I know that I must be content in my love, with what is fitful and fugitive. For we have met for a moment in the crossing of the roads. Have I the power to carry you through this crowd of worlds, through this maze of paths? Have I the food that can sustain you, across the dark passage gaping with arches of death?
