129
In its swelling pride
the bubble doubts the truth of the sea,
and laughs and bursts into emptiness.
130
Love is an endless mystery,
for it has nothing else to explain it.
131
My clouds, sorrowing in the dark,
forget that they themselves
have hidden the sun.
132
Man discovers his own wealth
when God comes to ask gifts of him.
133
You leave your memory as a flame
to my lonely lamp of separation.
134
I came to offer thee a flower,
but thou must have all my garden,—
It is thine.
135
The picture—a memory of light
treasured by the shadow.
136
It is easy to make faces at the sun,
He is exposed by his own light in all directions.