LET ONLY THAT little be left of me whereby I may name thee my all. Let only that little be left of my will whereby I may feel thee on every side, and come to thee in everything, and offer to thee my love every moment. Let only that little be left of me whereby I may never hide thee. Let only that little of my fetters be left whereby I am bound with thy will, and thy purpose is carried out in my life-and that is the fetter of thy love.
THY GIFT OF THE earliest flower came to me this morning, and came the faint tuning of thy light. I am a bee that has wallowed in the heart of thy golden dawn, My wings are radiant with its pollen. I have found my place in the feast of songs in thy April, and I am freed of my fetters like the morning of its mist in a mere play.