And with a hunger-weakened voice she spoke to the child saying, “Why have you left the spiritual world and come to share with me the bitterness of earthly life? Why have you deserted the angels and the spacious firmament and come to this miserable land of humans, filled with agony, oppression, and heartlessness? I have nothing to give you except tears; will you be nourished on tears instead of milk? I have no silk clothes to put on you; will my naked, shivering arms give you warmth? The little animals graze in the pasture and return safely to their shed; and the small birds pick the seeds and sleep placidly between the branches. But you, my beloved, have naught save a loving but destitute mother.”

Then she took the infant to her withered breast and clasped her arms around him as if wanting to join the two bodies in one, as before. She lifted her burning eyes slowly toward heaven and cried, “God! Have mercy on my unfortunate countrymen!”

At that moment the clouds floated from the face of the moon, whose beams penetrated the transom of that poor home and fell upon two corpses.

The Life of Love

Spring

COME, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,

For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its

Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.

Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the

Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw

Inspiration high above the cool green plains.

Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment

And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and

They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of

The Night of Kedre.

The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like

Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance

Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;

And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of

Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.

Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter’s

Tears from the cupped lilies, and soothe our spirits

With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander

In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.

Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us

Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.

Summer

Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the

Time of harvest approaches, and the sun’s eyes

Are ripening the grain.

Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the

Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the

Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts.

Let us fill our bins with the products of

Nature, as life fills so abundantly the

Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.

Let us make the flowers our bed, and the

Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together

Upon pillows of soft hay.

Let us relax after the day’s toil, and listen

To the provoking murmur of the brook.

Autumn

Let us go and gather the grapes of the vineyard

For the winepress, and keep the wine in old

Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the

Ages in eternal vessels.

Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has

Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the

Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.

Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds

Have made pilgrimage to warmth and left the chilled

Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The jasmine

And myrtle have no more tears.

Let us retreat, for the tired brook has

Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs

Are drained of their copious weeping; and

The cautious old hills have stored away

Their colorful garments.

Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary

And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell

With quiet and contented melody.

Winter

Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;

Come close to me and let not Winter’s touch

Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,

For fire is the only fruit of Winter.

Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for

That is greater than the shrieking elements

Beyond our door.

Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the

Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my

Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields

Makes my soul cry.

Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and

Place it by you, so I can read with tears what

Your life with me has written upon your face.

Bring Autumn’s wine. Let us drink and sing the

Song of remembrance to Spring’s carefree sowing,

And Summer’s watchful tending, and Autumn’s

Reward in harvest.

Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the

Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.

Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is

Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing

Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before

They are shut.

Find me with your arms and embrace me; let

Slumber then embrace our souls as one.

Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen

All but our moving lips.

You are close by me, My Forever.

How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber;

And how recent was the dawn!

The House of Fortune

MY WEARIED HEART bade me farewell and left for the House of Fortune. As he reached that holy city which the soul had blessed and worshiped, he commenced wondering, for he could not find what he had always imagined would be there. The city was empty of power, money, and authority.

And my heart spoke to the daughter of Love saying, “Oh Love, where can I find Contentment? I heard that she had come here to join you.”

And the daughter of Love responded, “Contentment has already gone to preach her gospel in the city, where greed and corruption are paramount; we are not in need of her.”

Fortune craves not Contentment, for it is an earthly hope, and its desires are embraced by union with objects, while Contentment is naught but heartfelt.

The eternal soul is never contented; it ever seeks exaltation. Then my heart looked upon Life of Beauty and said, “Thou art all knowledge; enlighten me as to the mystery of Woman.” And he answered, “Oh human heart, woman is your own reflection, and whatever you are, she is; wherever you live, she lives; she is like religion if not interpreted by the ignorant, and like a moon, if not veiled with clouds, and like a breeze, if not poisoned with impurities.”

And my heart walked toward Knowledge, the daughter of Love and Beauty, and said, “Bestow upon me wisdom, that I might share it with the people.” And she responded, “Say not wisdom, but rather fortune, for real fortune comes not from outside, but begins in the Holy of Holies of life. Share of thyself with the people.”

Song of the Wave

THE STRONG SHORE is my beloved

And I am his sweetheart.

We are at last united by love, and

Then the moon draws me from him.

I go to him in haste and depart

Reluctantly, with many

Little farewells.

I steal swiftly from behind the

Blue horizon to cast the silver of

My foam upon the gold of his sand, and

We blend in melted brilliance.

I quench his thirst and submerge his

Heart; he softens my voice and subdues

My temper.

At dawn I recite the rules of love upon

His ears, and he embraces me longingly.

At eventide I sing to him the song of

Hope, and then print smooth kisses upon

His face; I am swift and fearful, but he

Is quiet, patient, and thoughtful. His

Broad bosom soothes my restlessness.

As the tide comes we caress each other,

When it withdraws, I drop to his feet in

Prayer.

Many times have I danced around mermaids

As they rose from the depths and rested

Upon my crest to watch the stars;

Many times have I heard lovers complain

Of their smallness, and I helped them to sigh.

Many times have I teased the great rocks

And fondled them with a smile, but never

Have I received laughter from them;

Many times have I lifted drowning souls

And carried them tenderly to my beloved

Shore. He gives them strength as he

Takes mine.

Many times have I stolen gems from the

Depths and presented them to my beloved

Shore. He takes in silence, but still

I give for he welcomes me ever.

In the heaviness of night, when all

Creatures seek the ghost of Slumber, I

Sit up, singing at one time and sighing

At another. I am awake always.

Alas! Sleeplessness has weakened me!

But I am a lover, and the truth of love

Is strong.

I may weary, but I shall never die.

A Poet’s Death Is His Life

THE DARK WINGS of night enfolded the city upon which Nature had spread a pure and white garment of snow; and men deserted the streets for their houses in search of warmth, while the north wind probed in contemplation of laying waste the gardens. There in the suburb stood an old hut heavily laden with snow and on the verge of falling. In a dark recess of that hovel was a poor bed in which a dying youth was lying, staring at the dim light of his oil lamp, made to flicker by the entering winds. He was a man in the spring of life who foresaw fully that the peaceful hour of freeing himself from the clutches of life was fast nearing. He was awaiting Death’s visit gratefully, and upon his pale face appeared the dawn of hope; and on his lips a sorrowful smile; and in his eyes forgiveness.

He was a poet perishing from hunger in the city of living rich. He was placed in the earthly world to enliven the heart of man with his beautiful and profound sayings. He was a noble soul, sent by the Goddess of Understanding to soothe and make gentle the human spirit. But alas! He gladly bade the cold earth farewell without receiving a smile from its strange occupants.

He was breathing his last and had no one at his bedside save the oil lamp, his only companion, and some parchments upon which he had inscribed his heart’s feeling. As he salvaged the remnants of his withering strength he lifted his hands heavenward; he moved his eyes hopelessly, as if wanting to penetrate the ceiling in order to see the stars from behind the veil of clouds.

And he said, ‘Come, oh beautiful Death; my soul is longing for you. Come close to me and unfasten the irons of life, for I am weary of dragging them. Come, oh sweet Death, and deliver me from my neighbors who looked upon me as a stranger because I interpret to them the language of the angels. Hurry, oh peaceful Death, and carry me from these multitudes who left me in the dark corner of oblivion because I do not bleed the weak as they do. Come, oh gentle Death, and enfold me under your white wings, for my fellowmen are not in want of me. Embrace me, oh Death, full of love and mercy; let your lips touch my lips which never tasted a mother’s kiss, nor touched a sister’s cheeks, nor caressed a sweetheart’s fingertips. Come and take me, my beloved Death.”

Then, at the bedside of the dying poet appeared an angel who possessed a supernatural and divine beauty, holding in her hand a wreath of lilies. She embraced him and closed his eyes so he could see no more, except with the eye of his spirit.