Forbid me not To come to your side of the stream; The water from yours Naughtily flows into mine. My pitcher refuses To hear the gurgle of your water; Yet, it mysteriously fills Its every corner, till all soundless is; Like your love Wordless, filling the cup of my life It is but coming and going; Laughing or weeping; In dark or day! Life is but a lay: Rings sad or gay. Depending on our singing |