In a corner of the sky a last red spot is dying; spreading out of a thousand lairs the night comes creeping; the meadows are stricken with gray, mute fear and in the shadows grass clings to grass .
And hark — a clear chime from afar cleaves the grey calm that lies on field and forest; from the skies a white dove quietly descends and bears a blessing and a mysterious gift. A tender grace is cooing in the air, and lovingly a strange God is breathing up to me .
Ding-dong, ding-dong . . And my thirsty heart drinks the quiet consolation of a God that is not mine .

A wave is billowing on the sea. In the open sea, my child, who will recognize the wave?
On the sea for aeons and aeons every second rears a throne, comes a tempest and reigns for a moment, my child ... Who'll remember then that wind?

There is such a song somewhere in Japan:
Says a warrior to the smith: Forge me skillfully a sword. Make the blade light as a zephyr upon the water, make it as long as a ripe ear of corn in the field, quick and flexible as a snake, full of flashes, as of a thosuand eyes, smooth as silk, and fine as the thread of a spider's web, and cold and pitiless as pain...
— And what shall there be on the hilt?
On the hilt, my good man — says the warrior of Japan — engrave for me a herd of sheep, a flowing stream, a cherry tree, a house close by, and a woman nursing a child .

Mother mine, mother, dear heart, untie from my neck the beads; the king will come hither on his way and I may please him .
— Daughter mine, daughter, my gold, let not your heart be fretted; I do not wish the king to like you and you shall not wear any jewels .
Mother mine, mother, dear heart, make me an ugly braid; the king will come hither on his way and he may send messengers to take me along .
— Daughter mine, daughter, my gold, he will not send any messengers; I do not wish the king to like you, and I comb you an ugly knot .

The store-keeper, Dwoirele's, daughter is called beautiful Mirele, Mirele! And Dwoirele says that her only solace is Mirele, Mirele. The sun shines by day, the moon shines by night, and Mirele stands by the window and laughs … Laugh, Mirele, Mirele!
This Mirele is graceful, sweetly beautiful, this Mirele, Mirele! She has white little arms, small white teeth—ah, Mirele, Mirele! The youths are ashen-pale with longing—but Mirele's little heart is more frigid than ice——Oh, Mirele, Mirele!

Renew the vision of delight
By vigil, praise and prayer,
Till every sinew leaps in might
And every sense is fair.

How well this figure represents the Law —
This pose of neuter Justice, sterile Cant;
This Roman Emperor with the iron jaw,
Wrapped in the black silk of a maiden-aunt.

She with a thyrsus Heliconias
Is called, Xantippe follows, and behind
Them both is Glauca; down the mountain-pass
Dancing they come; their wide-flung tresses float
In streaming waves upon the wanton wind.
Dithyrambs they sing,
And to Bacchus bring
Ivy, grape clusters, and a fatted goat.

The sickle and the scythe have flashed in the field long since; half of the crop by now is in the granaries. The silver dew will fall on barren rows and the grain gatherers will sing no more this year .
Another day, another day … Long wagons now despoil the mother earth since the early morning hour—and when the moon will scan the field at night from far above—she will already find it in orphaned state .

My magadis with twenty strings
In praise of thee most sweetly sings,
O fair Leucaspis, and in sooth
Thine is the very flower of youth.