m afar.

It is the pain of separation that melts into melody through my
flute.

I wait for the time when your boat crosses over to my shore and
you take my flute into your own hands.

LXVIII

Suddenly the window of my heart flew open this morning, the
window that looks out on your heart.

I wondered to see that the name by which you know me is written
in April leaves and flowers, and I sat silent.

The curtain was blown away for a moment between my songs and
yours.

I found that your morning light was full of my own mute songs
unsung; I thought that I would learn them at your feet--and I sat
silent.

LXIX

You were in the centre of my heart, therefore when my heart
wandered she never found you; you hid yourself from my loves and
hopes till the last, for you were always in them.

You were the inmost joy in the play of my youth, and when I was
too busy with the play the joy was passed by.

You sang to me in the ecstasies of my life and I forgot to sing
to you.

LXX

When you hold your lamp in the sky it throws its light on my face
and its shadow falls over you.

When I hold the lamp of love in my heart its light falls on you
and I am left standing behind in the shadow.

LXXI

O the waves, the sky-devouring waves, glistening with light,
dancing with life, the waves of eddying joy, rushing for ever.

The stars rock upon them, thoughts of every tint are cast up out
of the deep and scattered on the beach of life.

Birth and death rise and fall with their rhythm, and the sea-gull
of my heart spreads its wings crying in delight.

LXXII

The joy ran from all the world to build my body.

The lights of the skies kissed and kissed her till she woke.

Flowers of hurrying summers sighed in her breath and voices of
winds and water sang in her movements.

The passion of the tide of colours in clouds and in forests
flowed into her life, and the music of all things caressed her
limbs into shape.

She is my bride,--she has lighted her lamp in my house.

LXXIII

The spring with its leaves and flowers has come into my body.

The bees hum there the morning long, and the winds idly play with
the shadows.

A sweet fountain springs up from the heart of my heart.

My eyes are washed with delight like the dew-bathed morning, and
life is quivering in all my limbs like the sounding strings of
the lute.

Are you wandering alone by the shore of my life, where the tide
is in flood,