I FEEL THAT your brief days of love have not been left behind in those scanty years of your life. I seek to know in what place, away from the slow-thieving dust, you keep them now. I find in my solitude some song of your evening that died, yet left a deathless echo; and the sighs of your unsatisfied hours I find nestled in the warm quiet of the autumn noon. Your desires come from the hive of the past to haunt my heart, and I sit still to listen to their wings.
WHAT IS THIS melody that overflows nay life, only I know and my heart knows. Why I watch and wait, what I beg and from whom, only I know and my heart knows. The morning smiles like a friend at my gate, the evening droops down like a flower by the edge of the woods. The flute music floats in the air in the dawn and in the dusk. It beguiles my thoughts away from my toils. What is this tune and who plays it ever, only I know and my heart knows.
