THE RIVER is grey and the air dazed with blown sand.
        On a morning of dark disquiet, when the birds are mute and their nests shake in the gust, I sit alone and ask myself, 'Where is she?'
        The days have flown wherein we sat too near each other; we laughed and jested, and the awe of love's majesty found no words at our meetings.
        I made myself small, and she trifled away every moment with pelting talk.
To-day I wish in vain that she were by me, in the gloom of the coming storm, to sit in the soul's solitude.

WHERE ROADS are made I lose my way.
In the wide water, in the blue sky there is no line of a track.
The pathway is hidden by the birds' wings, by the star-fires, by the flowers of the wayfaring seasons.
And I ask my heart if its blood carries the wisdom of the unseen way.

YOU CAME FOR A moment to my side and touched me with the great mystery of the woman that there is in the heart of creation.
She who is ever returning to God his own outflowing of sweetness; she is the ever fresh beauty and youth in nature; she dances in the bubbling streams and sings in the morning light; she with heaving waves suckles the thirsty earth; in her the Eternal One breaks in two in a joy that no longer may contain itself, and overflows in the pain of love.