which ends in exhaustion is death, but the perfect ending is in the endless.
112
The sun has his simple robe of light. The clouds are decked with gorgeousness.
113
The hills are like shouts of children who raise their arms, trying to catch stars.
114
The road is lonely in its crowd for it is not loved.
115
The power that boasts of its mischiefs is laughed at by the yellow leaves that fall, and clouds that pass by.
116
The earth hums to me to-day in the sun, like a woman at her spinning, some ballad of the ancient time in a forgotten tongue.
117
The grass-blade is worthy of the great world where it grows.
118
Dream is a wife who must talk.
Sleep is a husband who silently suffers.
119
The night kisses the fading day whispering to his ear, "I am death, your mother. I am to give you fresh birth."
120
I fell thy beauty, dark night, like that of the loved woman when she has put out the lamp.
121
I carry in my world that flourishes the worlds that have failed.
122
Dear friend, I feel the silence of your great thoughts of many a deepening eventide on this beach when I listen to these waves.
123
The bird thinks it is an act of kindness to give the fish a lift in the air.
124
"In the moon thou sendest thy love letters to me," said the night to the sun. "I leave my answers in tears upon the grass."
125
The Great is a born child ; when he dies he gives his great childhood to the world.
126
Not hammer strokes, but dance of the water sings the pebbles into perfection.
127
Bees sip honey from flowers and hum their thanks when they leave.
The gaudy butterfly is sure that the flowers owe thanks to him.
128
To be outspoken is easy when you do not wait to speak the complete truth.
129
Asks the Possible to the Impossible, "Where is your dwelling place?"
"In the dreams of the impotent," comes the answer.
130
If you shut your door to all errors truth will be shut out.
131
I hear some rustle of things behind my sadness of heart,—I cannot see them
132
Leisure in its activity is work.
The stillness of the sea stirs in waves.
133
The leaf becomes flower when it doves.
The flower becomes fruit when it worships.
134
The roots below the earth claim no rewards for making the branches fruitful.
135
This rainy evening the wind is restless.
I look at the swaying branches and ponder over the greatness of all things
136
Storm of midnight, like a giant child awakened in the untimely dark, has begun to play and shout.
137
Thou raisest thy waves vainly to follow thy lover, O sea, thou lonely bride of the storm.
138
"I am ashamed of my emptiness," said the Word to the Work.
"I know how poor I am when I see you," said the Work to the Word.
139
Time is the wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth.
140
Truth in her dress finds facts too tight.
In fiction she moves with ease.
141
When I travelled to here and to there, I was tired of thee, O Road, but now when thou leadest me to everywhere I am wedded to thee in love.
142
Let me think that there is one among those stars that guides my life through the dark unknown.
143
Woman, with the grace of your fingers you touched my things and order came out like music.
144
One sad voice has its nest among the ruins of the years. It sings to me in the night,—"I loved you."
145
The flaming fire warns me off by its own glow. Save me from the dying embers, hidden under ashes.
146
I have my stars in the sky, But oh for my little lamp unlit in my house.
147
The dust of the dead words clings to thee.
Wash thy soul with silence.
148
Gaps are left in life through which comes the sad music of death.
149
The world has opened its heart of light in the morning.
Come out, my heart, with thy love to meet it.
150
My thoughts shimmer with these shimmering leaves and my heart sings with the
