The Gardener quotes

I am ever as young or as old as the youngest and the oldest of this village.

In the morning I cast my net into the sea.

Ah me, why did they build my house by the road to the market town?

I am restless. I am athirst for far-away things.

I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.

I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.

The tame bird was in a cage, the free bird was in the forest.

Their love is intense with longing, but they never can fly wing to wing.

It is my own heart that beats wildly—I do not know how to quiet it.

Come as you are; do not loiter over your toilet.

Your thoughts will stray out of your dark eyes like birds from their nests.

The waves will stand a-tiptoe to kiss your neck and whisper in your ears.

I lose my way and I wander, I seek what I cannot get, I get what I do not seek.

This love between you and me is simple as a song.

The stars that smile on their cottage send us the same twinkling look.

His eyes are sad, and they bring sadness to my heart.

Do not keep to yourself the secret of your heart, my friend!

My feet are languid with the burden of my heart, and I stand still in the shadow.

Trust love even if it brings sorrow. Do not close up your heart.

Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies.

Your questioning eyes are sad. They seek to know my meaning as the moon would fathom the sea.

But it is a heart, my beloved. Where are its shores and its bottom?

It is as near to you as your life, but you can never wholly know it.

You are the evening cloud floating in the sky of my dreams.

My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes.

I hurt you, for fear you should never know any pain.

Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.

Who can strain the blue from the sky?

My eager hands press emptiness to my heart and it bruises my breast.

I plucked your flower, O world!

You are one half woman and one half dream.

Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.

The stars hold their breath counting the hours, the feeble moon swims the deep night.

There is only your own pair of wings and the pathless sky.

Our life is short; it yields but a few days for love.

Beauty is sweet to us, because she dances to the same fleeting tune with our lives.

There must come a full pause to weave perfection into music.

I hunt for the golden stag.

The toys that you make for your children are fragile.

It seems that the two friends meet masked and vaguely know each other through the disguise.

Let us take the blue sky by storm and plunder space as we run.

Laughter floats in the air like foam on the flood.

Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?