I EVER GO seeking for this self of mine; but how can I know the fugitive, who flits in dreams in changing forms and guises? Often have I listened to its voice in the heart of my own songs, but never know I where it dwells. The hours pass, the light fades, the farewell tune is wafted in the evening breeze from the flute of a passer-by.
WHEN THE creation was new and all the stars shone in their first splendour, the gods held their assembly in the sky and sang 'Oh, the picture of perfection! the joy unalloyed!' But one cried of a sudden-It seems that somewhere there is a break in the chain of light and one of the stars has been lost.' The golden string of their harp snapped, their song stopped, and they cried in dismay-'Yes, that lost star was the best, she was the glory of all heavens!' From that day the search is unceasing for her, and the cry goes on from one to the other that in her the world has lost its one joy! Only in the deepest silence of night the stars smile and whisper among themselves-'Vain is this seeking! Unbroken perfection is over all!'
