62


I SHALL NOT wait and watch in the house for thy coming,

but will go forth into the open,

for the petals fall from the drooping flowers and time flies to its end.

The wind is up, the water is ruffled.

Be swift and cut the rope,

let the boat drift in the midstream, for the time flies to its end.

The night is pale, the lonely moon is playing its ferry of dreams

across the sky.

The path is unknown, but I heed it not.

My mind has the wings of freedom

and I know that I shall cross the dark.

Let me but start on my journey, for the time flies to its end.

 

 

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