THEY CALL YOU mad. Wait for tomorrow and keep silent. They throw dust upon your head. Wait for tomorrow. They will bring their wreath. They sit apart in their high seat. Wait for tomorrow. They will come down and bend their head.
I WILL MEET one day the Life within me, the joy that hides in my life, though the days perplex my path with their idle dust. I have known it in glimpses, and its fitful breath has come upon me making my thoughts fragrant for a while. I will meet one day the Joy without me that dwells behind the screen of light-and will stand in the overflowing solitude where all things are seen as by their creator.
