THE RAINS sweep the sky from end to end. In the wild wet wind the jasmines revel in their own perfume. There is a secret joy in the bosom of the night, it is the joy of the veiled sky in its hidden stars, the joy of the midnight forest in its hoarded bird-songs. Let me fill my heart with it and carry it in secret through the day.
THE NIGHT deepens and the dying flame flickers in the lamp. I forgot to notice when the evening-like a village girl who has filled her pitcher at the river a last time for that day-closed the door on her cabin. I was speaking to you, my love, with mind barely conscious of my voice-tell me, had it any meaning? Did it bring you any message from beyond life's borders? For now, since my voice has ceased, I feel the night throbbing with thoughts that gaze in awe at the abyss of their dumbness.