The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal.

To the guests that must go, bid God's speed and brush away all traces of their steps.

Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt at being told that it is a fragment awaiting perfection.

Truth looks tawdry when she is overdressed.

Boasting is only a masked shame; it does not truly believe in itself.

Poems On Love Love adorns itself; it seeks to prove inward joy by outward beauty. Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom. Love is an endless mystery, for it has nothing else to explain it. Love's gift cannot be given, it waits to be accepted.

One who has never known the turbulence of life, in whom the petals of the mysterious flower within have never opened; such a one may seem happy, may seem a saint, his single track mind may impress the multitude with its power - but he is ill equipped for life's true adventure into the infinite.