If these poems repeat themselves, then so does Spring.

The Earth turns to Gold, in the hands of the wise.

I have no companion but Love, no beginning, no end, no dawn. The Soul calls from within me: 'You, ignorant of the way of Love, set Me free.'

When I die, I shall soar with angels, and when I die to the angels, what I shall become you cannot imagine.

I don’t regret how much I love, and I avoid those who repent their passion.

Brother, stand the pain. Escape the poison of your impulses. The sky will bow to your beauty, if you do. Learn to light the candle. Rise with the sun. Turn away from the cave of your sleeping. That way a thorn expands to a rose.

Yesterday was glory and joy. Today, a blackened burn everywhere. On the record of my life, these two days will be put down as one