FORGIVE MY languor, O Lord, if ever I lag behind upon life's way. Forgive my anguished heart which trembles and hesitates in its service. Forgive my fondness that lavishes its wealth upon an unprofitable past. Forgive these faded flowers in my offering that wilt in the fierce heat of panting hours.
WOMAN, THOU hast made my days of exile tender with beauty, and hast accepted me to thy nearness with a simple grace that is like the smile with which the unknown star welcomed me when I stood alone at the balcony and gazed upon the southern night. There came the voice from above: 'We know you, For you come as our guest from the dark of the infinite, the guest of light.' Even in the same great voice thou hast cried to me: 'I know you.' And though I know not thy tongue. Woman, I have heard it uttered in thy music, 'You are ever our guest on this earth, poet, the guest of love.'