MY SONGS ABE the same as are the spring flowers, they come from you. Yet I bring these to you as my own. You smile and accept them, and you are glad at my joy of pride. If my song flowers are frail and they fade and drop in the dust, I shall never grieve. For absence is not loss in your hand, and the fugitive moments that blossom in beauty are kept ever fresh in your wreath.
CLOUDS HEAP upon clouds and it darkens. Ah, love, why dost thou let me wait outside at the door all alone? In the busy moments of the noontide work I am with the crowd, but on this dark lonely day it is only for thee that I hope. If thou showest me not thy face, if thou leavest me wholly aside, I know not how I am to pass these long, rainy hours. I keep gazing on the far away gloom of the sky, and my heart wanders wailing with the restless wind.