MY SONG HAS put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would come between thee and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers. My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet, I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
YOU SEEMED from afar titanic in your mysterious majesty of terror. With palpitating heart I stood before your presence. Your knitted brows boded ill and sudden came down the blow with a growl and a crash. My bones cracked, with bowed head I waited for the final fury to come. It came. And I wondered, could this be all of the menace? With your weapon held high in suspense you looked mightily big. To strike me you came down to where I crouched low on the ground. You suddenly became small and I stood up. From thence there was only pain for me but no fear. Great you are as death itself, but your victim is greater than death.
