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In the deep shadows of the rainy July, with secret steps, thou

walkest, silent as night, eluding all watchers.

Today the morning has closed its eyes, heedless of the insistent

calls of the loud east wind, and a thick veil has been drawn over

the ever-wakeful blue sky.

The woodlands have hushed their songs, and doors are all shut at

every house. Thou art the solitary wayfarer in this deserted

street. Oh my only friend, my best beloved, the gates are open in

my house-do not pass by like a dream.

23.

Art thou abroad on this stormy night on thy journey of love, my

friend? The sky groans like one in despair.

I have no sleep tonight. Ever and again I open my door and look

out on the darkness, my friend!

I can see nothing before me. I wonder where lies thy path!

By what dim shore of the ink-black river, by what far edge of the

frowning forest, through what mazy depth of gloom art thou

threading thy course to come to me, my friend?

24.