Stray Birds

I

Stray birds of summer come to my window to sing and fly away.  And yellow
leaves of autumn, which have no songs, flutter and fall there with a sigh.

II

O troupe of little vagrants of the world, leave your footprints in my
words.

III

The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover.  It becomes small as
one song, as one kiss of the eternal.

IV

It is the tears of the earth that keep her smiles in bloom.

V

The mighty desert is burning for the love of a blade of grass who shakes
her head and laughs and flies away.

VI

If you shed tears when you miss the sun, you also miss the stars.

VII

The sands in your way beg for your song and your movement, dancing water.
Will you carry the burden of their lameness?

VIII

Her wistful face haunts my dreams like the rain at night.

IX

Once we dreamt that we were strangers.  We wake up to find that we were
dear to each other.

X

Sorrow is hushed into peace in my heart like the evening among the silent
trees.

XI

Some unseen fingers, like an idle breeze, are playing upon my heart the
music of the ripples.

XII

"What language is thine, O sea?"
"The language of eternal question."
"What language is thy answer, O sky?"
"The language of eternal silence."

XIII

Listen, my heart, to the whispers of the world with which it makes love to
you.

XIV

The mystery of creation is like the darkness of night -- it is great.
Delusions of knowldge are like the fog of the morning.

XV

Do not seat your love upon a precipice because it is high.

XVI

I sit at my window this morning where the world like a passer-by stops for
a moment, nods to me and goes.

XVII

These little thoughts are the rustle of leaves; they have their whisper of
joy in my mind.

XVIII

What you are you do not see, what you see is your shadow.

XIX

My wishes are fools, they shout across thy songs, my Master.  Let me but
listen.

XX

I cannot choose the best.
The best chooses me.

XXI

They throw their shadows before them who carry their lantern on their
back.

XXII

That I exist is a perpetual surprise which is life.

XXIII

"We, the rustling leaves, have a voice that answers the storms, but who
are you, so silent?"
"I am a mere flower."

XXIV

Rest belongs to the work as the eyelids to the eyes.

XXV

Man is a born child, his power is the power of growth.

XXVI

God expects answers for the flowers he sends us, not for the sun and the
earth.

XXVII

The light that plays, like a naked child, among the green leaves happily
knows not that man can lie.

XXVIII

O Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror.

XXIX

My heart beats her waves at the shore of the world and writes upon it her
signature in tears with the words, "I love thee."

XXX

"Moon, for what do you wait?"
"To salute the sun for whom I must make way."

XXXI

The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth.

XXXII

His own mornings are new surprises to God.

XXXIV

The dry river-bed finds no thanks for its past.

XXXV

The bird wishes it were a cloud.
The cloud wishes it were a bird.

XXXVI

The waterfall sings, "I find my song, when I find my freedom."

XXXVII

I cannot tell why this heart languishes in silence.
It is for small needs it never asks, or knows or remembers.

XXXVIII

Woman, when you move about in your household service your limbs sing like
a hill stream amongst its pebbles.

XXXIX

The sun goes to cross the Western sea, leaving its last salutations to the
East.

XL

Do not blame your food because you have no appetite.

XLI

The trees, like the longings of the earth, stand a-tiptoe to peep at the
heaven.

XLII

You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this I had been
waiting long.

XLIII

The fish in the water is silent, the animal on the earth is noisy, the bird
in the air is singing.  But Man has in him the silence of the sea, the
noise of the earth and the music of the air.

XLIV

The world rushes on over the strings of the lingering heart making the
music of sadness.

XLV

He has made his weapons his gods.  When his weapons win he is defeated
himself.

XLVI

God finds himself by creating.

XLVII

Shadow, with her veil drawn, follows Light in secret meekness, with her
silent steps of love.

XLVIII

The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies.

XLIX

I thank thee that I am none of the wheels of power but I am one with the
living creatures that are crushed by it.

L

The mind, sharp but not broad, sticks at every point but does not move.

LI

Your idol is shattered in the dust to prove that God's dust is greater
than your idol.

LII

Man does not reveal himself in his history, he struggles up through it.

LIII

While the glass lamp rebukes the earthen for calling it cousin, the moon
rises, and the glass lamp, with a bland smile, calls her, -- "My dear,
dear sister."

LIV

Like the meeting of the seagulls and the waves we meet and come near.
The seagulls fly off, the waves roll away and we depart.

LV

My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the
dance-music of the tide in the evening.

LVI

Life is given to us, we earn it by giving it.

LVII

We come nearest to the great when we are great in humility.

LVIII

The sparrow is sorry for the peacock at the burden of its tail.

LIX

Never be afraid of the moments -- thus sings the voice of the everlasting.

LX

The hurricane seeks the shortest road by the no-road, and suddenly ends
its search in the Nowhere.

LXI

Take my wine in my own cup, friend.  It loses its wreath of foam when
poured into that of others.

LXII

The Perfect decks itself in beauty for the love of the Imperfect.

LXIII

God says to man, "I heal you, therefore I hurt, love you, therefore
punish."

LXIV

Thank the flame for its light, but do not forget the lampholder standing
in the shade with constancy of patience.

LXV

Tiny grass, your steps are small, but you possess the earth under your
tread.

LXVI

The infant flower opens its bud and cries, "Dear World, please do not
fade."

LXVII

God grows weary of great kingdoms, but never of little flowers.

LXVIII

Wrong cannot afford defeat but Right can.

LXIX

"I give my whole water in joy," sings the waterfall, "though little of it
is enough for the thirsty."

LXX

Where is the fountain that throws up these flowers in a ceaseless outbreak
of ecstacy?

LXXI

The woodcutter's axe begged for its handle from the tree.  The tree gave
it.

LXXII

In my solitude of heart I feel the sigh of this widowed evening veiled
with mist and rain.

LXXIII

Chastity is a wealth that comes from abundance of love.

LXXIV

The mist, like love, plays upon the heart of the hills and brings out
surprises of beauty.

LXXV

We read the world wrong and say that it deceives us.

LXXVI

The poet wind is out over the sea and the forest to seek his own voice.

LXXVII

Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man.

LXXVIII

The grass seeks her crowd in the earth.  The tree seeks his solitude of
the sky.

LXXIX

Man barricades against himself.

LXXX

Your voice, my friend, wanders in my heart, like the muffled sound of the
sea among these listening pines.

LXXXI

What is this unseen flame of darkness whose sparks are the stars?

LXXXII

Let life be beautiful like summer flowers and death like autumn leaves.

LXXXIII

He who wants to do good knocks at the gate; he who loves finds the gate
open.

LXXXIV

In death the many becomes one; in life the one becomes many.  Religion
will be one when God is dead.

LXXXV

The artist is the lover of Nature, therefore he is her slave and her
master.

LXXXVI

"How far are you from me, O Fruit?"
"I am hidden in your heart, O Flower."

LXXXVII

This longing is for the one who is felt in the dark, but not seen in the
day.

LXXXVIII

"You are the big drop of dew under the lotus leaf, I am the smaller one on
its upper side," said the dewdrop to the lake.

LXXXIX

The scabbard is content to be dull when it protects the keenness of the
sword.

XC

In darkness the One appears as uniform; in the light the One appears as
manifold.

XCI

The great earth makes herself hospitable with the help of the grass.

XCII

The birth and death of the leaves are the rapid whirls of the eddy whose
wider circles move slowly among the stars.

XCIII

Power said to the world, "You are mine."
The world kept it prisoner on her throne.
Love said to the world, "I am thine."
The world gave it the freedom of her house.

XCIV

The mist is like the earth's desire.  It hides the sun for whom she cries.

XCV

Be still, my heart, these great trees are prayers.

XCVI

The noise of the moment scoffs at the music of the Eternal.

XCVII

I think of other ages that floated upon the stream of life and love and
death and are forgotten, and I feel the freedom of passing away.

XCVIII

The sadness of my soul is her bride's veil.
It waits to be lifted in the night.

XCIX
Death's stamp gives value to the coin of life; making it possible to buy
with life what is truly precious.

C

The cloud stood humbly in a corner of the sky.  The morning crowned it
with splendor.

CI

The dust receives insult and in return offers her flowers.

CII

Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers
will keep themselves blooming all your way.

CIII

Roots are the branches down in the earth.  Branches are roots in the air.

CIV

The music of the far-away summer flutters around the autumn seeking its
former nest.

CV

Do not insult your friend by lending him merits from your own pocket.

CVI

The touch of nameless days clings to my heart like mosses round the old
tree.

CVII

The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original.

CVIII

God is ashamed when the prosperous boasts of his special favour.

CIX

I cast my own shadow upon my path, because I have a lamp that has not been
lighted.

CX

Man goes into the noisy crowd to drown his own clamour of silence.

CXI

That which ends in exhaustion is death, but the perfect ending is in the
endless.

CXII

The sun has his simple robe of light.  The clouds are decked with
gorgeousness.

CXIII

The hills are like shouts of children who raise their arms, trying to
catch stars.

CXIV

The road is lonely in its crowd, for it is not loved.

CXV

The power that boasts of its mischiefs is laughed at by the yellow leaves
that fall, and clouds that pass by.

CXVI

The earth hums to me to-day in the sun, like a woman at her spinning, some
ballad of the ancient time in a forgotten tongue.

CXVII

The grass-blade is worthy of the great world where it grows.

CXVIII

Dream is a wife who must talk,
Sleep is a husband who silently suffers.

CXIX

The night kisses the fading day whispering to his ear, "I am death, your
mother.  I am to give you fresh birth."

CXX

I feel thy beauty, dark night, like that of the loved woman when she has
put out the lamp.

CXXI

I carry in my world that flourishes the worlds that have failed.

CXXII

Dear friend, I feel the silence of your great thoughts of many a deepening
eventide on this beach when I listen to these waves.

CXXIII

The bird thinks it is an act of kindness to give the fish a lift in the
air.

CXXIV

"In the moon thou sendest thy love letters to me," said the night to the
sun.
"I leave my answers in tears upon the grass."

CXXV

The Great is a born child; when he dies he gives his great childhood to
the world.

CXXVI

Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water sings the pebbles into
perfection.

CXXVII

Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave.  The
gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him.

CXXVIII

To be outspoken is easy when you do not wait to speak the complete truth.

CXXIX

Ask the Possible of the Impossible, "Where is your dwellilng-place?"
"In the dreams of the impotent," comes the answer.

CXXX

If you shut your door to all errors truth will be shut out.

CXXXI

I hear some rustle of things behind my sadness of heart, -- I cannot see
them.

CXXXII

Leisure in its activity is work.
The stillness of the sea stirs in waves.

CXXXIII

The leaf becomes flower when it loves.  The flower becomes fruit when it
worships.

CXXXIV

The roots below the earth claim no rewards for making the branches
fruitful.

CXXXV

This rainy evening the wind is restless.  I look at the swaying branches
and ponder over the greatness of all things.

CXXXVI

Storm of midnight, like a giant child awakened in the untimely dark, has
begun to play and shout.

CXXXVII

Thou raisest thy waves vainly to follow thy lover, O sea, thou lonely
bride of the storm.

CXXXVIII

"I am ashamed of my emptiness," said the Word to the Work.
"I know how poor I am when I see you," said the Work to the Word.

CXXXIX

Time is the wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere
change and no wealth.

CXL

Truth in her dress finds facts too tight.  In fiction she moves with ease.

CXLI

When I travelled to here and to there, I was tired of thee, O Road, but
now when thou leadest me to everywhere I am wedded to thee in love.

CXLII

Let me think that there is one among those stars that guides my life
through the dark unknown.

CXLIII

Woman, with the grace of your fingers you touched my things and order came
out like music.

CXLIV

One sad voice has its nest among the ruins of the years.  It sings to me
in the night, -- "I loved you."

CXLV

The flaming fire warns me off by its own glow.  Save me from the dying
embers hidden under ashes.

CXLVI

I have my stars in the sky, but oh for my little lamp unlit in my house.

CXLVII

The dust of the dead words cling to thee.  Wash thy soul with silence.

CXLVIII

Gaps are left in life through which comes the sad music of death.

CXLIX

The world has opened its heart of light in the morning.  Come out, my
heart, with thy love to meet it.

CL

My thoughts shimmer with these shimmering leaves and my heart sings with
the touch of this sunlight; my life is glad to be floating with all things
into the blue of space, into the dark of time.

CLI

God's great power is in the gentle breeze, not in the storm.

CLII

This is a dream in which things are all loose and they oppress.  I shall
find them gathered in thee when I awake and shall be free.

CLIII

"Who is there to take up my duties?" asked the setting sun.
"I shall do what I can, my Master," said the earthen lamp.

CLIV

By plucking her petals you do not gather the beauty of the flower.

CLV

Silence will carry your voice like the nest that holds the sleeping birds.

CLVI

The Great walks with the Small without fear.  The Middling keeps aloof.

CLVII

The night opens the flowers in secret and allows the day to get thanks.

CLVIII

Power takes as ingratitude the writhings of its victims.

CLIX

When we rejoice in our fullness, then we can part with our fruits with joy.

CLX

The raindrops kissed the earth and whispered, -- "We are thy homesick
children, mother, come back to thee from heaven."

CLXI

The cobweb pretends to catch dewdrops and catches flies.

CLXII

Love! when you come with the burning lamp of pain in your hand, I can see
your face and know you as bliss.

CLXIII

"The learned say that your lights will one day be no more," said the
firefly to the stars.  The stars made no answer.

CLXIV

In the dusk of the evening the bird of some early dawn comes to the nest
of my silence.

CLXV

Thoughts pass in my mind like flocks of ducks in the sky.  I hear the
voice of their wings.

CLXVI

The canal loves to think that rivers exist solely to supply it with water.

CLXVII

The world has kissed my soul with its pain, asking for its return in
songs.

CLXVIII

That which oppresses me, is it my soul trying to come out in the open, or
the soul of the world knocking at my heart for its entrance?

CLXIX

Thought feeds itself with its own words and grows.

CLXX

I have dipped the vessel of my heart into this silent hour; it has filled
with love.

CLXXI

Either you have work or you have not.  When you have to say, "Let us do
something," then begins mischief.

CLXXII

The sunflower blushed to own the nameless flower as her kin.  The sun rose
and smiled on it, saying, "Are you well, my darling?"

CLXXIII

"Who drives me forward like fate?"
"The Myself striding on my back."

CLXXIV

The clouds fill the water-cups of the river, hiding themselves in the
distant hills.

CLXXV

I spill water from my water-jar as I walk on my way.  Very little remains
for my home.

CLXXVI

The water in a vessel is sparkling; the water in the sea is dark.  The
small truth has words that are clear; the great truth has great silence.

CLXXVII

Your smile was the flowers of your own fields, your talk was the rustle of
your own mountain pines, but your heart was the woman that we all know.

CLXXVIII

It is the little things that I leave behind for my loved ones, -- great
things are for everyone.

CLXXIX

Woman, thou hast encircled the world's heart with the depth of thy taers
as the sea has the earth.

CCLXXX

The sunshine greets me with a smile.  The rain, his sad sister, talks to
my heart.

CLXXXI

My flower of the day dropped its petals forgotten.  In the evening it
ripens into a golden fruit of memory.

CLXXXII

I am like the road in the night listening to the footfalls of its memories
in silence.

CLXXXIII

The evening sky to me is like a window, and a lighted lamp, and a waiting
behind it.

CLXXXIV

He who is too busy doing good finds no time to be good.

CLXXXV

I am the autumn cloud, empty of rain, see my fullness in the field of
ripened rice.

CLXXXVI

They hated and killed and men praised them.  But God in shame hastens to
hide its memory under the green grass.

CLXXXVII

Toes are the fingers that have forsaken their past.

CLXXXVIII

Darkness travels towards light, but blindness towards death.

CLXXXIX

The pet dog suspects the universe for scheming to take its place.

CXC

Sit still, my heart, do not raise your dust.  Let the world find its way
to you.

CXCI

The bow whispers to the arrow before it speeds forth -- "Your freedom is
mine."

CXCII

Woman, in your laughter you have the music of the fountain of life.

CXCIII

A mind all logic is like a knife all blade.  It makes the hand bleed that
uses it.

CXCIV

God loves man's lamp-lights better than his own great stars.

CXCV

This world is the world of wild storms kept tame with the music of beauty.

CXCVI

"My heart is like the golden casket of thy kiss," said the sunset cloud to
the sun.

CXCVII

By touching you may kill, by keeping away you may possess.

CXCVIII

The cricket's chirp and the patter of rain come to me through the dark,
like the rustle of dreams from my past youth.

CXCIX

"I have lost my dewdrop," cries the flower to the morning sky that has
lost all its stars.

CC

The burning log bursts in flame and cries, -- "This is my flower, my
death."

CCI

The wasp thinks that the honey-hive of the neighbouring bees is too small.
His neighbours ask him to build one still smaller.

CCII

"I cannot keep your waves," says the bank to the river.  "Let me keep your
footprints in my heart."

CCIII

The day, with the noise of this little earth, drowns the silence of all
worlds.

CCIV

The song feels the infinite in the air, the picture in the earth, the poem
in the air and the earth; For its words have meaning that walks and music
that soars.

CCV

When the sun goes down to the West, the East of his morning stands before
him in silence.

CCVI

Let me not put myself wrongly to my world and see it against me.

CCVII

Praise shames me, for I secretly beg for it.

CCVIII

Let my doing nothing when I have nothing to do become untroubled in its
depth of peace like the evening in the seashore when the water is silent.

CCIX

Maiden, your simplicity, like the blueness of the lake, reveals your depth
of truth.

CCX

The best does not come alone.  It comes with the company of all.

CCXI

God's right hand is gentle, but terrible is his left hand.

CCXII

My evening came among the alien trees and spoke in a language which my
morning stars did not know.

CCXIII

Night's darkness is a bag that bursts with the gold of the dawn.

CCXIV

Our desire lends the colours of the rainbow to the mere mists and vapours
of life.

CCXV

God waits to win back his own flowers as gifts from man's hands.

CCXVI

My sad thoughts tease me asking me their own names.

CCXVII

The service of the fruit is precious, the service of the flower is sweet,
but let my service be the service of the leaves in its shade of humble
devotion.

CCXVIII

My heart has spread its sails to the idle winds for the shadowy island of
Anywhere.

CCXIX

Men are cruel, but Man is kind.

CCXX

Make me thy cup and let my fullness be for thee and for thine.

CCXXI

The storm is like the cry of some god in pain whose love the earth
refuses.

CCXXII

The world does not leak because death is not a crack.

CCXXIII

Life has become richer by the love that has been lost.

CCXXIV

My friend, your great heart shone with the sunrise of the East like the
snowy summit of a lonely hill in the dawn.

CCXXV

The fountain of death makes the still water of life play.

CCXXVI

Those who have everything but thee, my God, laugh at those who have
nothing but thyself.

CCXXVII

The movement of life has its rest in its own music.

CCXXVIII

Kicks only raise dust and not crops from the earth.

CCXXIX

Our names are the light that glows on the sea waves at night and then dies
without leaving its signature.

CCXXX

Let him only see the thorns who has eyes to see the rose.

CCXXXI

Set the bird's wings with gold and it will never again soar in the sky.

CCXXXII

The same lotus of our clime blooms here in the alien water with the same
sweetness, under another name.

CCXXXIII

In heart's perspective the distance looms large.

CCXXXIV

The moon has her light all over the sky, her dark spots to herself.

CCXXXV

Do not say, "It is morning," and dismiss it with a name of yesterday.  See
it for the first time as a new-born child that has no name.

CCXXXVI

Smoke boasts to the sky, and Ashes to the earth, that they are brothers to
the fire.

CCXXXVII

The raindrop whispered to the jasmine, "Keep me in your heart for ever."
The jasmine sighed, "Alas," and dropped to the ground.

CCXXXVIII

Timid thoughts, do not be afraid of me.  I am a poet.

CCXXXIX

The dim silence of my mind seems filled with crickets' chirp -- the grey
twilight of sound.

CCXL

Rockets, your insult to the stars follows yourself back to the earth.

CCXLI

Thou hast led me through my crowded travels of the day to my evening's
loneliness.  I wait for its meaning through the stillness of the night.

CCXLII

This life is the crossing of a sea, where we meet in the same narrow ship.
In death we reach the shore and go to our different worlds.

CCXLIII

The stream of truth flows through its channels of mistakes.

CCXLIV

My heart is homesick to-day for the one sweet hour across the sea of time.

CCXLV

The bird-song is the echo of the morning light back from the earth.

CCXLVI

"Are you too proud to kiss me?" the morning light asks the buttercup.

CCXLVII

"How may I sing to thee and worship, O Sun?" asked the little flower.  "By
the simple silence of thy purity," answered the sun.

CCXLVIII

Man is worse than an animal when he is an animal.

CCXLIX

Dark clouds become heaven's flowers when kissed by light.

CCL

Let not the sword-blade mock its handle for being blunt.

CCLI

The night's silence, like a deep lamp, is burning with the light of its
Milky Way.

CCLII

Around the sunny island of life swells day and night death's limitless
song of the sea.

CCLIII

Is not this mountain like a flower, with its petals of hills, drinking the
sunlight?

CCLIV

The real with its meaning read wrong and emphasis misplaced is the unreal.

CCLV

Find your beauty, my heart, from the world's movement, like the boat that
has the greace of the wind and the water.

CCLVI

The eyes are not proud of their sight but of their eyeglasses.

CCLVII

I live in this little world of mine and am afraid to make it the least
less.  Lift me into thy world and let me have the freedom gladly to lose
my all.

CCLVIII

The false can never grow into truth by growing in power.

CCLIX

My heart, with its lapping waves of song, longs to caress this green world
of the sunny day.

CCLX

Wayside grass, love the star, then your dreams will come out in flowers.

CCLXI

Let your music, like a sword, pierce the noise of the market to its heart.

CCLXII

The trembling leaves of this tree touch my heart like the fingers of an
infant child.

CCLXIII

The little flower lies in the dust.  It sought the path of the butterfly.

CCLXIV

I am in the world of the roads.  The night comes.  Open thy gate, thou
world of the home.

CCLXV

I have sung the songs of thy day.  In the evening let me carry thy lamp
through the stormy path.

CCLXVI

I do not ask thee into the house.  Come into my infinite loneliness, my
Lover.

CCLXVII

Death belongs to life as birth does.  The walk is in the raising of the
foot as in the laying of it down.

CCLXVIII

I have learnt the simple meaning of thy whispers in flowers and sunshine
-- teach me to know thy words in pain and death.

CCLXIX

The night's flower was late when the morning kissed her, she shivered and
sighed and dropped to the ground.

CCLXX

Through the sadness of all things I hear the crooning of the Eternal
Mother.

CCLXXI

I came to your shore as a stranger, I lived in your house as a guest, I
leave your door as a friend, my earth.

CCLXXII

Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the afterglow of sunset
at the margin of starry silence.

CCLXXIII

Light in my heart the evening star of rest and then let the night whisper
to me of love.

CCLXXXIV

They light their own lamps and sing their own words in their temples.  But
the birds sing thy name in thine own morning light, -- for thy name is
joy.

CCLXXXV

Lead me in the centre of they silence to fill my heart with songs.

CCLXXXVI

Let them live who choose in their own hissing world of fireworks.  My
heart longs for thy stars, my God.

CCLXXXVII

Love's pain sang round my life like the unplumbed sea, and love's joy sang
like birds in its flowering groves.

CCLXXXVIII

Put out the lamp when thou wishest.  I shall know thy darkness and shall
love it.

CCLXXXIX

When I stand before thee at the day's end thou shalt see my scars and know
that I had my wounds and also my healing.

CCXC

Some day I shall sing to thee in the sunrise of some other world, "I have
seen thee before in the light of the earth, in the love of man."

CCXCI

Clouds come floating into my life from other days no longer to shed rain
or usher storm but to give colour to my sunset sky.

CCXCII

Truth raises against itself the storm that scatters its seeds broadcast.

CCXCIII

The storm of the last night has crowned this morning with golden peace.

CCXCIV

Truth seems to come with its final word; and the final word gives birth to
its next.

CCXCV

Blessed is he whose fame does not outshine his truth.

CCXCVI

Sweetness of thy name fills my heart when I forget mine -- like thy
morning sun when the mist is melted.

CCXCVII

The silent night has the beauty of the mother and the clamorous day of the
child.

CCXCVIII

The world loved man when he smiled.  The world became afraid of him when
he laughed.

CCXCIX

God waits for man to regain his childhood in wisdom.

CCC

Let me feel this world as they love taking form, then my love will help
it.

CCCI

Thy sunshine smiles upon the winter days of my heart, never doubting of
its spring flowers.

CCCII

God kisses the finite in his love and man the infinite.

CCCIII

Thou crossest desert lands of barren years to reach the moment of
fulfilment.

CCCIV

God's silence ripens man's thoughts into speech.

CCCV

Thou wilt find, Eternal Traveller, marks of thy footsteps across my songs.

CCCVI

Let me not shame thee, Father, who displayest thy glory in thy children.

CCCVII

Cheerless is the day, the light under frowning clouds is like a punished
child with traces of tears on its pale cheeks, and the cry of the wind is
like the cry of a wounded world.  But I know I am travelling to meet my
Friend.

CCCVIII

To-night there is a stir among the palm leaves, a swell in the sea, Full
Moon, like the heart-throb of the world.  From what unknown sky hast thou
carried in thy silence the aching secret of love?

CCCIX

I dream of a star, an island of light, where I shall be born and in the
depth of its quickening leisure my life will ripen its works like the
rice-field in the autumn sun.

CCCX

The smell of the wet earth in the rain rises like a great chant of praise
from the voiceless multitude of the insignificant.

CCCXI

That love can ever lose is a fact that we cannot accept as truth.

CCCXII

We shall know some day that death can never rob us of that which our soul
has gained, for her gains are one with herself.

CCCXIII

God comes to me in the dusk of my evening with the flowers from my past
kept fresh in his basket.

CCCXIV

When all the strings of my life will be tuned, my Master, then at every
touch of thine will come out the music of love.

CCCXV

Let me live truly, my Lord, so that death to me become true.

CCCXVI

Man's history is waiting in patience for the triumph of the insulted man.

CCCXVII

I feel thy gaze upon my heart this moment like the sunny silence of the
morning upon the lonely field whose harvest is over.

CCCXVIII

I long for the Island of Songs across this heaving Sea of Shouts.

CCCXIX

The prelude of the night is commenced in the music of the sunset, in its
solemn hymn to the ineffable dark.

CCCXX

I have scaled the peak and found no shelter in fame's bleak and barren
height.  Lead me, my Guide, before the light fades, into the valley of
quiet where life's harvest mellows into golden wisdom.

CCCXXI

Things look phantastic in this dimness of the dusk -- the spires whose
bases are lost in the dark and tree-tops like blots of ink.  I shall wait
for the morning and wake up to see thy city in the light.

CCCXXII

I have suffered and despaired and known death and I am glad that I am in
this great world.

CCCXXIII

There are tracts in my life that are bare and silent.  They are the open
spaces where my busy days had their light and air.

CCCXXIV

Release me from my unfulfilled past clinging to me from behind making
death difficult.

CCCXXV

Let this be my last word, that I trust in thy love.

Rabindranath Tagore