“My heart, the bird of the wilderness,has found its sky in your eyes.They are the cradle of the morning,they are the kingdom of the stars.My songs are lost in their depths.Let me but soar in that sky,in its lonely immensity.Let me but cleave its cloudsand spread wings in its sunshine.”

“THE TAME BIRD WAS IN A CAGETHE tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.They met when the time came, it was a decree of fate.The free bird cries, "O my love, let us fly to the wood."The cage bird whispers, "Come hither, let us both live in the cage."Says the free bird, "Among bars, where is there room to spread one's wings?""Alas," cries the caged bird, "I should not know where to sit perched in the sky." The free bird cries, "My darling, sing the songs of the woodlands."The cage bird sings, "Sit by my side, I'll teach you the speech of the learned."The forest bird cries, "No, ah no! songs can never be taught."The cage bird says, "Alas for me, I know not the songs of the woodlands." There love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.Through the bars of the cage they look, and vain is their wish to know each other.They flutter their wings in yearning, and sing, "Come closer, my love!"The free bird cries, "It cannot be, I fear the closed doors of the cage."The cage bird whispers, "Alas, my wings are powerless and dead.”

“Light, my light, the world-filling light, the eye-kissing light, heart-sweetening light! Ah, the light dances, my darling, at the centre of my life; the light strikes, my darling, the chords of my love; the sky opens, the wind runs wild, laughter passes over the earth. The butterflies spread their sails on the sea of light. Lilies and jasmines surge up on the crest of the waves of light. The light is shattered into gold on every cloud, my darling, and it scatters gems in profusion. Mirth spreads from leaf to leaf, my darling, and gladness without measure. The heaven's river has drowned its banks and the flood of joy is abroad.”

“I thought that my voyage had come to its end at the last limit of my power, that the path before me was closed, that provisions were exhausted, and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity, but I find that thy will knows no end in me, and when old words die out on the tongue, new melodies break forth from the heart, and where the old tracks are lost, new country is revealed with its wonders.”

“Hard TimesMusic is silenced, the dark descending slowlyHas stripped unending skies of all companions.Weariness grips your limbs and within the locked horizonsDumbly ring the bells of hugely gathering fears.Still, O bird, O sightless bird,Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.It's not melodious woodlands but the leaps and fallsOf an ocean's drowsy booming,Not a grove bedecked with flowers but a tumult flecked with foam.Where is the shore that stored your buds and leaves?Where the nest and the branch's hold?Still, O bird, my sightless bird,Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.Stretching in front of you the night's immensityHides the western hill where sleeps the distant sun;Still with bated breath the world is counting time and swimmingAcross the shoreless dark a crescent moonHas thinly just appeared upon the dim horizon.-But O my bird, O sightless bird,Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.From upper skies the stars with pointing fingersIntently watch your course and death's impatienceLashes at you from the deeps in swirling waves;And sad entreaties line the farthest shoreWith hands outstretched and crooning 'Come, O come!'Still, O bird, O sightless bird,Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings.All that is past: your fears and loves and hopes;All that is lost: your words and lamentation;No longer yours a home nor a bed composed of flowers.For wings are all you have, and the sky's broadening countryard,And the dawn steeped in darkness, lacking all direction.Dear bird, my sightless bird,Not yet, not yet the time to furl your wings!”

“Where is heaven? you ask me, my child,-the sages tell us it isbeyond the limits of birth and death, unswayed by the rhythm of dayand night; it is not of the earth. But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time andspace, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust.Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in yourpalpitating heart. The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoeto kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother-dust.”

“Only Thee That I want thee, only thee---let my heart repeat without end. All desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to the core. As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry ---`I want thee, only thee'. As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against thy love and still its cry is ---`I want thee, only thee'.”