r with wreaths
and sang in her praise.

A smile shone in her face for a moment, then it faded.

"I have no joy in thee," she cried, the woman in sorrow.

I bought her jewelled anklets and fanned her with a fan
gem-studded; I made her a bed on a bedstead of gold.

There flickered a gleam of gladness in her eyes, then it died.

"I have no joy in these," she cried, the woman in sorrow.

I seated her upon a car of triumph and drove her from end to end
of the earth.

Conquered hearts bowed down at her feet, and shouts of applause
rang in the sky.

Pride shone in her eyes for a moment, then it was dimmed in
tears.

"I have no joy in conquest," she cried, the woman in sorrow.

I asked her, "Tell me whom do you seek?"

She only said, "I wait for him of the unknown name."

Days pass by and she cries, "When will my beloved come whom I
know not, and be known to me for ever?"

LVIII

Yours is the light that breaks forth from the dark, and the good
that sprouts from the cleft heart of strife.

Yours is the house that opens upon the world, and the love that
calls to the battlefield.

Yours is the gift that still is a gain when everything is a loss,
and the life that flows through the caverns of death.

Yours is the heaven that lies in the common dust, and you are
there for me, you are there for all.

LIX

When the weariness of the road is upon me, and the thirst of the
sultry day; when the ghostly hours of the dusk throw their
shadows across my life, then I cry not for your voice only, my
friend, but for your touch.

There is an anguish in my heart for the burden of its riches not
given to you.

Put out your hand through the night, let me hold it and fill it
and keep it; let me feel its touch along the lengthening stretch
of my loneliness.

LX

The odour cries in the bud, "Ah me, the day departs, the happy
day of spring, and I am a prisoner in petals!"

Do not lose heart, timid thing! Your bonds will burst, the bud
will open into flower, and when you die in the fulness of life,
even then the spring will live on.

The odour pants and flutters within the bud, crying, "Ah me, the
hours pass by, yet I do not know where I go, or what it is I
seek!"

Do not lose heart, timid thing! The spring breeze has overheard
your desire, the day will not end before you have fulfilled your
being.

Dark is the future to her, and the odour cries in despair, "Ah
me, through whose fault is my life so unm