The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest.

The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest.

Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave. The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him.

The delights of sight and hearing and touch will bear thy delight.

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only there is the agony of wishing in my heart . . .

Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.