king your return
hopeless?
I go roaming listening to brooks' babble, to the rustle of leaves.
And it seems to me that I shall find the way, that reaches the land of
lost love beyond the evening stars._

What a strange tune is this, that comes out of the music of
Spring.

It seems like the tune of yellow leaves.

Spring has stored up its tears in secret for us all this while.

It was afraid we should not understand it, because we were so
youthful.

It wanted to beguile us with smiles.

But we shall sleep our hearts tonight in the sadness of the other
shore.

Ah, the dear earth! The beautiful earth! She wants all that we
have--the touch of our hands, the song of our hearts.

She wants to draw out from us all that is within, hidden even
from ourselves.

This is her sorrow, that she finds out some things only to know
that she has not found all. She loses before she attains.

Ah, the dear earth! We shall never deceive you.

(_They sing._)

_I shall crown you with my garland, before I take leave.
You ever spoke to me in all my joys and sorrows.
And now, at the end of the day, my own heart will break in speech.
Words came to me, but not the tune, and the song that I never sang
to you remains hidden behind my tears._

Brother, did you notice that some one seemed to have passed by?

The only thing you feel is this passing by.

I felt the touch of the mantle of some wayfarer.

We came out to capture somebody, but now we feel the longing to
be captured ourselves.

Ah, here comes the Minstrel. Where have you brought us? The
breath of the wayfaring world touches us here,--the breath of the
starry sky.

We came seeking a new form of play. But now we have forgotten
what play it was.

We wanted to catch the Old Man.

And everybody said that he was terrifying, a bodiless head, a
gaping mouth, a dragon eager to swallow the moon of the youth of
the world. But now we are no longer afraid. The flowers go, the
leaves go, the waves in the river go, and we shall also follow
them. Ah, blind Minstrel, strike your lute and sing to us. Who
knows what is the hour of the night?

(_The Minstrel sings._)

_Let me give my all to him, before I am asked, whom the world offers
its all.
When I came to him for my gifts, I was not afraid;
And I will not fear, when I come to him, to give up what I have.
The morning accepts his gold with songs, the