THE MORNING-light aches with the pain of parting. Poet, take up thy flute! Let be, if thou must depart, and go, leaving thy song to the flowers in this dew-dripping autumn. Such a morning will come again at the gold-tinted border of the East with kunda flowers in her locks. In the shady garden path, plaintive with dove's cooing, tender with the caressing enchantment of the green, will rise again the vision of this light, her steps tinkling with the anklet of thine own songs. Let be, if thou must depart.
COMRADE OF the road, Here are my traveller's greetings to thee. 0 Lord of my broken heart, of leave taking and loss, of the grey silence of the dayfall, My greetings of the ruined house to thee! 0 Light of the new-born morning, Sun of the everlasting day, My greetings of the undying hope to thee My guide, I am a wayfarer of an endless road, My greetings of a wanderer to thee.
