When the freshness of dawn droops in the sun, when in the noon the air
hangs low with heaviness and the forest is silent, my songs return home,
their languid wings dusted with gold.



8


I believe you had visited me in a vision before we ever met, like some
foretaste of April before the spring broke into flower.

That vision must have come when all was bathed in the odour of _sal_
blossom; when the twilight twinkle of the river fringed its yellow sands,
and the vague sounds of a summer afternoon were blended; yes, and had it
not laughed and evaded me in many a nameless gleam at other moments?



9


I think I shall stop startled if ever we meet after our next birth, walking
in the light of a far-away world.

I shall know those dark eyes then as morning stars, and yet feel that they
have belonged to some unremembered evening sky of a former life.

I shall know that the magic of your face is not all its own, but has stolen
the passionate light that was in my eyes at some immemorial meeting, and