and night; it is not of the earth.
But your poet knows that its eternal hunger is for time and
space, and it strives evermore to be born in the fruitful dust.
Heaven is fulfilled in your sweet body, my child, in your
palpitating heart.
The sea is beating its drums in joy, the flowers are a-tiptoe
to kiss you. For heaven is born in you, in the arms of the mother-
dust.
Similar Posts
Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it
I may not find a place in thy garland, but honour it with a touch ofpain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear lest the day end before I amaware, and the time of offering go by.Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this flowerin thy service and pluck…
This is my prayer to thee, my lord—strike,
Give me the strength lightly to bear my joys and sorrows.Give me the strength to make my love fruitful in service.Give me the strength never to disown the poor or bend my knees before insolent might.Give me the strength to raise my mind high above daily trifles.And give me the strength to surrender my strength…
Do not keep to yourself the secret of
Say it to me, only to me, in secret.You who smile so gently, softlywhisper, my heart will hear it, not myears.The night is deep, the house issilent, the birds’ nests are shroudedwith sleep.Speak to me through hesitatingtears, through faltering smiles, throughsweet shame and pain, the secret ofyour heart!
If baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment.
He loves to rest his head on mother’s bosom, and cannot everbear to lose sight of her.Baby know all manner of wise words, though few on earth canunderstand their meaning.It is not for nothing that he never wants to speak.The one thing he wants is to learn mother’s words frommother’s lips. That is why he…
I am like a remnant of a cloud of autumn
Thy touch has not yet melted my vapor,making me one with thy light,and thus I count months and years separated from thee.If this be thy wish and if this be thy play,then take this fleeting emptiness of mine,paint it with colors, gild it with gold,float it on the wanton wind and spread it in varied…
She who ever had remained in the depth of my being,
she who never opened her veils in the morning light,will be my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my final song.Words have wooed yet failed to win her;persuasion has stretched to her its eager arms in vain.I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my heart,and around her…