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.
IF LOVE BE denied me then why does the morning break its heart in songs, and why are these whispers that the south wind scatters among the new- born leaves? If love be denied me then why does the midnight bear in yearning silence the pain of the stars? And why does this foolish heart recklessly launch its hope on the sea whose end it does not know?