IS SUMMER'S festival only for fresh blossoms and not also for withered leaves and faded flowers?
Is the song of the sea in tune only with the rising waves?
Does it not also sing with the waves that fall?
Jewels are woven into the carpet where stands my king, but there are patient clods waiting to be touched by his feet.
Few are the wise and the great who sit by my Master, but he has taken the foolish in his arms and made me his servant for ever.

COME FRIEND, flinch not, step down upon the hard earth.
Do not gather dreams in the dusk.
Storms are brewing in the sky, lightning flashes are striking at our sleep.
Come down to the common life.
The web of illusion is torn, take shelter within walls of rough stones.

I FEEL THAT your brief days of love have not been left behind in those scanty years of your life.
        I seek to know in what place, away from the slow-thieving dust, you keep them now. I find in my solitude some song of your evening that died, yet left a deathless echo; and the sighs of your unsatisfied hours I find nestled in the warm quiet of the autumn noon.
Your desires come from the hive of the past to haunt my heart, and I sit still to listen to their wings.