The flute steals his smile from my friend's lips and spreads it
over my life.
LXVII
You always stand alone beyond the stream of my songs.
The waves of my tunes wash your feet but I know not how to reach
them.
This play of mine with you is a play from afar.
It is the pain of separation that melts into melody through my
flute.
I wait for the time when your boat crosses over to my shore and
you take my flute into your own hands.
LXVIII
Suddenly the window of my heart flew open this morning, the
window that looks out on your heart.
I wondered to see that the name by which you know me is written
in April leaves and flowers, and I sat silent.
The curtain was blown away for a moment between my songs and
yours.
I found that your morning light was full of my own mute songs
unsung; I thought that I would learn them at your feet--and I sat
silent.
LXIX
You were in the centre of my heart, therefore when my heart
wandered she never found you; you hid yourself from my loves and
hopes till the last, for you were always in them.
You were the inmost joy in the play of my youth, and when I was
too busy with the play the joy was passed by.
You sang to me in the ecstasies of my life and I forgot to sing
to you.
LXX
When you hold your lamp in the sky it throws its light on my face
and its shadow falls over you.
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