|Love is not by nature ignoble like lust;|
You can’t expect flight of a fly from falcon’s wings.
The way of the garden can be changed thus:
The nightingales should grow sick of their nests like a cage.
Those waiting for the bugle-call are not ready for the journey,
He does not wait for herald's sound, like waves that flow without ding dong.
The pupil in schools looks alive; nay, he is dead;
He had borrowed his breath from the Franks.
If you wish to nourish your heart
You need only the stray look of a man of faith.