In
the world's
audience hall, the simple blade of grass sits on the same carpet with
the sunbeam and the of the midnight.
Thus
my songs share their seats in the heart of the world with the music of
the clouds and forests.
But,
you man of iches, your wealth has no part in the simple grandeur of the
sun's glad gold and the mellow gleam of the musing moon.
The
blessing of the all-embracing sky is not shed upon it.
And
when death appears, it pales and withers and crumbles into dust.