your speech is simple, my master, but not theirs who talk of you.

i understand the voice of your stars and the silence of your trees.

i know that my heart would open like a flower; that my life has filled itself at a hidden fountain.

your songs, like birds from the lonely land of snow, are winging to build their nests in my heart against the warmth of its april, and i am content to wait for the merry season.