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

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.

In the world's audience hall, the simple blade of grass sits on the same carpet with the sunbeams, and the stars of midnight.

To the guests that must go, bid God's speed and brush away all traces of their steps.

My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy; yet I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer be granted.

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