“From a magician's midnight sleeve
the radio-singers
distribute all their love-songs
over the dew-wet lawns.”

“Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.”

“‎No one remembers the singer. The song remains.”

“Better than any argument is to rise at dawn and pick dew-wet red berries in a cup.”

“The song of the wind singer will set you free.”

“Violets! — deep-blue violets!
April's loveliest coronets!
There are no flowers grow in the vale,
Kiss'd by the dew, wooed by the gale, —
None by the dew of the twilight wet,
So sweet as the deep-blue violet!”

“Who's ever heard of a singer criticized by his song?”

“Full lasting is the song, though he,
The singer, passes”

“I have heard the mavis singing
Its love-song to the morn;
I've seen the dew-drop clinging
To the rose just newly born.”

“So is the song of life being sung/ By us and by all the living beings/ A melodious and harmonious song,/ Where the singer loses her own self/ And absorbs in the wonderful harmony of the song!/ An almost ecstatic experience.”