Rest belongs to the work as the eyelids to the eyes.
Man is a born child, his power is the power of growth.
God expects answers for the flowers he sends us, not for the sun
the earth.
The light that plays, like a naked child, among the green leaves
happily knows not that man can lie.
O Beauty, find thyself in love, not in the flattery of thy mirror.
My heart beats her waves at the shore of the world and writes upon
it her signature in tears with the words, "I love thee."
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Moon, for what do you wait?
To salute the sun for whom I must make way.
The trees come up to my window like the yearning voice of the dumb earth.