It is the same life that emerges in joy through the dust of the earth into numberless waves of flower.

Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in my house-do not pass by like a dream.

I am restless. I am athirst for faraway things. My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance. O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute! I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.

Lord, I have loved Your sky,Be it said against or for me,Have loved it clear and high,Or low and stormy.

Lovers, forget your love And list to the love of these. She a window flower. And he a winter breeze.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.