IF THERE is nothing but pain in loving then why is this love? What folly is this to claim her heart because you have offered her your own! With the desire burning in your blood and madness glowing in your eyes why is this circling of a desert? He bankers for nothing in the world who is in possession of himself; the sweet air of the spring is for him, the flowers, the bird songs; but love comes like a devouring shadow effacing the whole world, eclipsing life and youth. Then why seek this mist that darkens existence?
I FILLED MY tray with whatever I had, and gave it to you. What shall I bring to your feet tomorrow, I wonder. I am like the tree that, at the end of the flowering summer, gazes at the sky with its lifted branches bare of their blossoms. But in all my past offerings is there not a single flower made fadeless by the eternity of tears? Will you remember it and thank me with your eyes when I stand before you with empty hands at the leave-taking of my summer days?