Pity me! my body is female,
My lowly state is hard to describe.
A boy faces door and gate,
Comes down on earth with a natural birthright,
His manly heart burns for the four seas,
Ten thousand leagues he yearns for windy dust.

A girl is born, there is no celebration,
She is not her family's prized jewel.
Grown up she is hidden in private rooms,
Veils her head, too shy to look on others.

Shedding tears she marries in another village,
Sudden like a cloudburst of rain.
With bowed head she calms her features,

Brown is my Love, but graceful;
And each renowned whiteness
Matched with thy lovely brown loseth its brightness.

Fair is my Love, but scornful:
Yet I have seen despised
Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prized.

Brown earth-line meets gray heaven,
And all the land looks sad;
But Love's the little leaven
That works the whole world glad.
Sigh, bitter wind; lower, frore clouds of gray:
My Love and I are living now in May!

Brid one brere, brid, brid one brere,
Kind is come of love, love to crave.
Blithful brid on me, on me, thou rewe,
Or greith, lef, greith thou me my grave.

Ich am so blithe, so bright, brid on brere,
When I see that hende, hende in halle;
Hie is whit of lime, lovely, trewe,
Hie is fair and flowr, and flowr of alle.

Mighte ich hire at wille, wille have,
Stedefast of love, lovely, trewe,
Of my sorwe hie may, hie may me save
Joye and blisse were ere, were ere me newe.

Breake now my heart and dye! Oh no, she may relent.
Let my despaire prevayle! Oh stay, hope is not spent.
Should she now fixe one smile on thee, where were despaire?
The losse is but easie which smiles can repayre.
A stranger would please thee, if she were as fayre.

Her must I love or none, so sweet none breathes as shee;
The more is my despayre, alas, shee loves not mee:
But cannot time make way for love through ribs of steele?
The Grecian, inchanted all parts but the heele,
At last a shaft daunted, which his hart did feele.

Bread is a lovely thing to eat —
God bless the barley and the wheat!

A lovely thing to breathe is air —
God bless the sunshine everywhere!

The earth's a lovely place to know —
God bless the folks that come and go!

Alive's a lovely thing to be —
Giver of life — we say — bless Thee!

The bood is beabig brighdly, love;
The sdars are shidig too;
While I ab gazig dreabily,
Add thigkig, love, of you.
You caddot, oh! you caddot kdow,
By darlig, how I biss you —
(Oh, whadt a fearful cold I've got! —
Ck- tish -u! Ck-ck- tish -u!)

I'b sittig id the arbor, love,
Where you sat by by side,
Whed od that calb, autubdal dight
You said you'd be by bride.

Body's desire that knows no end
the terrible power of a rising tide—
in the fire that flares up still more, perspiring,
salamanders twist and turn, dancing.

The ceaseless snow throws a feast of vol nuptial late at night
and shouts out joy in the hushed air.
Shattered by beauty and power
we then immerse ourselves in an esoteric flow
breathe in an aroused rosy haze
and reflected on the jewels in Indra's net
mold our lives inexhaustibly.

The cradling demon's power that lurks in winter
and the raw heat of sprouts that bud in winter—

A BIRD in my bower
Sat calling, a-calling;
A bird answered low from the garden afar.
His note came with power,
While falling, a-falling,
Her note quivered faint as the light of a star.
" I am Life! I am Life! "
From the bower a-ringing,
Trilled forth a mad melody, soaring above;
" I am Love! I am Love! "
From the garden a-singing,
Came soft as a dream, and the echoes sang " Love. "

They joined, and together
Fast flying, a-flying,
Were lost to my gaze in the arch of the sky.
The wind through the heather

Beloved, you are like thread in the loom
woven into a flowering tree of love!
I am like the flowers on your robe:
the spring wind blows but they won't drop off.