I often wonder where lie hidden th… Through what primal paradise in a… Those marks of their constant trea… Yet suddenly in some wordless musi… It seems that the two friends meet…
It was in May. The sultry noon s… When I heard from the riverside a… I shut my book and opened the wind… I saw a big buffalo with mud-stain… I smiled amused and felt a touch o…
I am like a remnant of a cloud of… uselessly roaming in the sky, O my… Thy touch has not yet melted my va… making me one with thy light, and thus I count months and years…
On many an idle day have I grieve… But it is never lost, my lord. Thou hast taken every moment of my… Hidden in the heart of things thou… buds into blossoms, and ripening f…
Light, oh where is the light? Kindle it with the burning fire of… There is the lamp but never a flic… Ah, death were better by far for t… Misery knocks at thy door,
WHEN I go alone at night to my l… It is my own anklets that grow lou… When I sit on my balcony and list… It is my own heart that beats wild… When my love comes and sits by my…
Tell me if this be all true, my lo… When these eyes flash their lightn… Is it true that my lips are sweet… Do the memories of vanished months… Does the earth, like a harp, shive…
The workman and his wife from the west country are busy digging to make bricks for the kiln. Their little daughter goes to the landing-place by the river; there she has no end of scouri...
The night was dark when she went a… The night is dark now, and I call… darling; the world is asleep; and… for a moment while stars are gazin… She went away when the trees were…
O Fool, try to carry thyself upon… O beggar, to come beg at thy own d… Leave all thy burdens on his hands… and never look behind in regret. Thy desire at once puts out the li…
We are to play the game of death t… The night is black, the clouds in… We have left our bed of dreams, fl… We sit upon a swing, and the storm… My bride starts up with fear and d…
If thou speakest not I will fill… I will keep still and wait like th… and its head bent low with patienc… The morning will surely come, the… and thy voice pour down in golden…
Early in the day it was whispered… only thou and I, and never a soul… pilgrimage to no country and to no… In that shoreless ocean, at thy silently listening smile my…
When I bring you coloured toys, m… is such a play of colours on cloud… painted in tints—when I give colou… When I sing to make you dance, I… in leaves, and why waves send thei…
Pity, in place of love, That pettiest of gifts, Is but a sugar—coating over neglec… Any passerby can make a gift of it To a street beggar,