Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, En wrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths of night and light and the half light. I would spread the cloths under your feet: But, I being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams...

The fascination of what's difficult
Has dried the sap out of my veins,
and rent spontaneous joy and natural
content out of my heart.