Do not lose heart, timid thing! The spring breeze has overheard
your desire, the day will not end before you have fulfilled your
being.

Dark is the future to her, and the odour cries in despair, "Ah
me, through whose fault is my life so unmeaning?

"Who can tell me, why I am at all?" Do not lose heart, timid
thing! The perfect dawn is near when you will mingle your life
with all life and know at last your purpose.



LXI

She is still a child, my lord.

She runs about your palace and plays, and tries to make of you a
plaything as well.

She heeds not when her hair tumbles down and her careless garment
drags in the dust.

She falls asleep when you speak to her and answers not--and the
flower you give her in the morning slips to the dust from her
hands.

When the storm bursts and darkness is over the sky she is
sleepless; her dolls lie scattered on the earth and she clings to
you in terror.