LXVIII
Suddenly the window of my heart flew open this morning, the window that looks out on your heart.
I wondered to see that the name by which you know me is written in April leaves and flowers, and I sat silent.
The curtain was blown away for a moment between my songs and yours.
I found that your morning light was full of my own mute songs unsung; I thought that I would learn them at your feet—and I sat silent.
LXIX
You were in the centre of my heart, therefore when my heart wandered she never found you; you hid yourself from my loves and hopes till the last, for you were always in them.
You were the inmost joy in the play of my youth, and when I was too busy with the play the joy was passed by.
You sang to me in the ecstasies of my life and I forgot to sing to you.