My holiday must be taken through yours, finding light in the dance of your
eyes, music in your noisy shouts.
To you autumn brings the true holiday freedom: to me it brings the
impossibility of work; for lo! you burst into my room.
Yes, my holiday is an endless freedom for love to disturb me.
13
In the evening my little daughter heard a call from her companions below
the window.
She timidly went down the dark stairs holding a lamp in her hand, shielding
it behind her veil.
I was sitting on my terrace in the star-lit night of March, when at a
sudden cry I ran to see.
Her lamp had gone out in the dark spiral staircase. I asked, "Child, why
did you cry?"
From below she answered in distress, "Father, I have lost myself!"
When I came back to the terrace under the star-lit night of March, I looked
at the sky, and it seemed that a child was walking there treasuring many
lamps behind her veils.
If their light went out, she would suddenly stop and a cry would sound from
sky to sky, "Father, I have lost myself!"
14
The evening stood bewildered among street lamps, its gold tarnished by the
city dust.
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