FOR WHAT GREAT reward of my merit, O Beautiful, had I, a meadow-flower, once taken my place in the chain on thy neck? The newly-wakened eyes of the earth were glad on that day, and the lute, at the touch of the Ever-new, broke out in melodies of dawn. If that flower fades and drops to the earth at the dim hour of the day, when the bird's songs are languid, let the evening wind sweep it away across the dark, following thy departing steps, never leaving it to be trodden to the dust by the careless moments.
A HANDFUL OF dust could hide your signal when I did not know its meaning. Now that I am wiser I read it in all that hid it before. It is painted in petals of flowers; waves flash it from their foam; hills hold it high on their summits. I had my face turned from you, therefore I read the letters awry and knew not their meaning.