LXVIII

Suddenly the window of my heart flew open this morning, the
window that looks out on your heart.

I wondered to see that the name by which you know me is written
in April leaves and flowers, and I sat silent.

The curtain was blown away for a moment between my songs and
yours.

I found that your morning light was full of my own mute songs
unsung; I thought that I would learn them at your feet--and I sat
silent.



LXIX

You were in the centre of my heart, therefore when my heart
wandered she never found you; you hid yourself from my loves and
hopes till the last, for you were always in them.

You were the inmost joy in the play of my youth, and when I was
too busy with the play the joy was passed by.

You sang to me in the ecstasies of my life and I forgot to sing
to you.