The passion of the tide of colours in clouds and in forests flowed into her life, and the music of all things caressed her limbs into shape.
She is my bride,—she has lighted her lamp in my house.
LXXIII
The spring with its leaves and flowers has come into my body.
The bees hum there the morning long, and the winds idly play with the shadows.
A sweet fountain springs up from the heart of my heart.
My eyes are washed with delight like the dew-bathed morning, and life is quivering in all my limbs like the sounding strings of the lute.
Are you wandering alone by the shore of my life, where the tide is in flood, O lover of my endless days?
Are my dreams flitting round you like the moths with their many-coloured wings?
And are those your songs that are echoing in the dark eaves of my being?