I AM HERE TO sing thee songs. In this hall of thine I have a corner seat.
In thy world I have no work to do; my useless life can only break out in tunes without a purpose.
When the hour strikes for thy silent worship at the dark temple of midnight, command me, my master, to stand before thee to sing.
When in the morning air the golden harp is tuned, honour me, commanding my presence.

GOD GROWS weary of great kingdoms, but never of little flowers.

THE LAKE LIES low by the hill,
a tearful entreaty of love
at the foot of the inflexible.