MAKE ME THY poet, 0 Night, veiled Night! There are some who have sat speechless for ages in thy shadow; let me utter their songs. Take me up on thy chariot without wheels, running noiselessly from world to world, thou queen in the palace of time, thou darkly beautiful! Many a questioning mind has stealthily entered thy courtyard and roamed through thy lampless house seeking for answers. From many a heart, pierced with the arrow of joy from the hands of the Unknown, have burst forth glad chants, shaking the darkness to its foundation. Those wakeful souls gaze in the starlight in wonder at the treasure they have suddenly found. ' Make me their poet, 0 Night, the poet of thy fathomless silence.
THE CHILD WHO is decked with prince's robes and who has jewelled chains round his neck loses all pleasure in his play; his dress hampers him at every step. In fear that it may be frayed, or stained with dust he keeps himself from the world, and is afraid even to move. Mother, it is no gain, thy bondage of finery, if it keep one shut off from the healthful dust of the earth, if it rob one of the right of entrance to the great fair of common human life.
