The Flautist Serene he listens, And calm. His hair is a tussled shock, But his face is

The Cloister Seven or eight in this convent cloister they live, What I’ve seen there is something

Origins What goddess once bore you, what pearl formed your face, Bearer of youth and of charm

Light You run in my veins as if you were sap, And like some garment my being

Elsa The traffic is thick and early this morning the heat, While long shadows still cross the

The Street of the Moon Scarce fifty yards long is the Street of the Moon, Thronged with

The Garden of Joys In all their kinds they are richly displayed, For all to choose they

Terra Nostra Planet Earth, Planet Mother, Planet Love, Men transform you, and women adorn you. Generations like

Weaver of Light Come you back to my embrace! But like a wave you run apace; Like

Hail to the Daylight Star! Gleaming like gold, shining and shimmering, dazzling the eyes that you pierce