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?
MY GUEST HAS come to my door in this autumn morning. Sing, my heart, sing thy welcome! Make thy song the song of the sunlit blue, of the dew-damp air, of the lavish gold of harvest fields, of the laughter of the loud water. Or stand mute before him for awhile gazing at his face; Then leave thy house and go out with him in silence.