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.
BID ME AND I shall gather my fruits to bring them in full baskets into your courtyard, though some are lost and some not ripe. For the season grows heavy with its fulness, and there is a plaintive shepherd's pipe in the shade. Bid me and I shall set sail on the river. The March wind is fretful, fretting the languid waves into murmurs. The garden has yielded its all, and in the weary hour of evening the call comes from your house on the shore in the sunset.
