The greed for fruit misses the flower.
The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest.
The Great Morning which is for all, rises in the East.
The tyrant claims freedom to kill freedom, and yet keep it for himself.
If I call not thee in my prayers, if I keep not thee in my heart, thy love for me still waits for my love.
The truth comes as conqueror only because we have lost the art of receiving it as guest.