Plunge into the deep without fear, with the gladness of April in your heart.

I hope to leave behind a few poems it will be hard to get rid of.

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.

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

Drunk with the joy of singing I forget myself and call thee friend who art my lord.

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