If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain We'd hunt down Love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were Queen of pleasure And I were King of pain.

On the mountains of memory by the world's wellsprings, in all man's eyes, where the light of life of him is on all past things, death only dies.

Wherever there is a grain of loyalty there is a glimpse of freedom.

She knows not loves that kissed her She knows not where. Art thou the ghost, my sister, White sister there, Am I the ghost, who knows? My hand, a fallen rose, Lies snow-white on white snows, and takes no care.

His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep.

Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

I remember the way we parted, The day and the way we met; You hoped we were both broken-hearted And knew we should both forget.