DO NOT CALL him to thy house, the dreamer,
who walks alone by thy path
in the night.
His words are those of a strange land,
and strange is the melody
played by him on his one-stringed lute.
There is no need for thee to spread a seat for him;
he will depart before day-break.
For in the feast of freedom
he is asked to sing
the praise of the new-born light.

THE SKY TELLS its beads all night
on the countless stars
in memory of the sun.

YET I CAN never believe that you are lost to us, my king, though
our poverty is great, and deep our shame.
Your will works behind the veil of despair, and in your own time
opens the gate of the impossible.
You come, as unto your own house, into the unprepared hall, on
the unexpected day.
Dark ruins at your touch become like a bud nourishing unseen in
its bosom the fruition of fulfilment.
Therefore I still have hopenot that the wrecks will be mended,
but that a new world will arise.