I have spent many days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung.

By touching you may kill, by keeping away you may possess.

Not hammer-strokes, but dance of the water, sings the pebbles into perfection.

My day is done, and I am like a boat drawn on the beach, listening to the dance-music of the tide in the evening.

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

In the drowsy dark cave of the mind dreams build their nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan.