This morning, separation from those whom I was born too late to meet weighs
on and saddens my heart.

Yet April carries the same flowers with which they decked their hair, and
the same south breeze fluttered their veils as whispers over modern roses.

And, to tell the truth, joys are not lacking to this spring, though Kalidas
sing no more; and I know, if he can watch me from the Poets' Paradise, he
has reasons to be envious.



10


Be not concerned about her heart, my heart: leave it in the dark.

What if her beauty be of the figure and her smile merely of the face? Let
me take without question the simple meaning of her glances and be happy.

I care not if it be a web of delusion that her arms wind about me, for the
web itself is rich and rare, and the deceit can be smiled at and forgotten.

Be not concerned about her heart, my heart: be content if the music is
true, though the words are not to be believed; enjoy the grace that dances
like a lily on the rippling, deceiving surface, whatever may lie beneath.



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