CXVII

THE grass-blade is worth

of the great world

where it grows.

CCXLVII

"HOW may I sing to thee and worship,

O Sun?"

asked the little flower.

"By the simple silence of thy purity,"
answered the sun.

CCCXXI

THINGS look phantastic

in this dimness of the dusk -

the spires whose bases are lost in the dark

and tree tops like blots of ink.

I shall wait for the morning

and wake up to see thy city in the light.

CCLXXXIX

WHEN I stand before thee

at the day's end

thou shalt see my scars

and know that I had my wounds

and also my healing.

CCXCVI

SWEETNESS of thy name fills my heart

when I forget mine -

like thy morning sun when the mist is melted.

CCLXXXIV

THEY light their own lamps and sing

their own words in their temples.

But the birds sing thy name
in thine own morning light, -
for thy name is joy.

CCLXVIII

I HAVE learnt the simple meaning of thy whispers
in flowers and sunshine -
teach me to know
thy words
in pain and death.

CCLXVI

I DO not ask thee into the house.

Come into my infinite loneliness,
my Lover.

CCLXIV

I AM in the world of the roads.

The night comes.

Open thy gate, thou world of the home.

CCCI

THY sunshine smiles upon
the winter days of my heart,
never doubting
of its spring flowers.

CCCVII

CHEERLESS is the day,

the light under frowning clouds

is like a punished child with traces of tears

on its pale cheeks,

and the cry of the wind

is like the cry of a wounded world.

But I know

I am travelling to meet my Friend.

CXVIII

DREAM is a wife
who must talk.
Sleep is a husband
who silently suffers.

CXX

I FEEL, thy beauty,
dark night,
like that of the loved woman
when she has put out the lamp.

CLX

THE raindrops kissed the earth
and whispered:
"We are thy homesick children, mother,
come back to thee from the heaven."

CCII

"I CANNOT keep your waves,"
says the bank to the river.
"Let me keep your footprints
in my heart."

CLXI

THE cobweb pretends to catch dew-drops
and catches flies.

LV

MY day is done,
and I am like a boat
drawn on the beach,
listening to the dance-music of the tide
in the evening.

XVI

I SIT at my window this morning
where the world like a passer-by
stops for a moment,
nods to me and goes.

CXIII

THE hills are like shouts of children
who raise their arms,
trying to catch stars.

CXII

THE sun has
his simple robe of light.
The clouds are decked with gorgeousness.

CXIX

THE night kisses the fading day
whispering to his ear,
"I am death, your mother.
I am to give you fresh birth."

CXXIV

"IN the moon thou sendest
thy love letters to me,"
said the night to the sun.
"I leave my answers
in tears upon the grass."

CLXXVI

THE water in a vessel is sparkling;
the water in the sea is dark.
The small truth has words that are clear;
the great truth has great silence.

CCIV

THE song feels the infinite in the air,
the picture in the earth,
the poem in the air and the earth;
For its words have meaning
that walks
and music that soars.

CXLI

WHEN I travelled to here and to there,
I was tired of thee,
O Road,
but now when thou leadest me to everywhere
I am wedded to thee in love.