82 (i ever go seeking for)
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.