Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

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

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

Butterflies...flowers that fly and all but sing.

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

When your heart turns cold, it causes your soul to freeze.