THE POET'S MIND floats and dances on the waves of life amidst the voices of wind and water. Now when the sun has set and the darkened sky draws down upon the sea like drooping lashes upon a weary eye it is time to take away his pen, and let his thoughts sink into the bottom of the deep amid the eternal secret of that silence.
WHERE IS heaven? you ask me, my child,- the sages tell us it is beyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of day and night; it is not of this earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and space, and it strives evermore lo be born in the fruitful dust. Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your palpitating heart The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother-dust.
