THE PAIN WAS great when the strings were being tuned, my Master! Begin your music, and let me forget the pain; let me feel in beauty what you had in your mind through those pitiless days. The waning night lingers at my doors, let her take her leave in songs. Pour your heart into my life strings, my Master, in tunes that descend from your stars.
WHILE I WALK to my King's house at the end of the day the travellers come to ask me- 'What hast thou for King's tribute?' I do not know what to show them or how to answer, for I have merely this song. My preparation is large in my house, where the claim is much and many are the claimants. But when I come to my King's house I have only this single song to offer it for his wreath.
