|
The Wind and the Rose.
Once in a garden there grew a rose. A wind fell in love with her. They were
completely different, he – light and fair; she – immobile and heavy as
blood. There came a man in wooden clogs and with his thick hands he plucked
the rose. The wind leapt after him, but the man slammed the door in his
face. O that I might turn to stone – wept the unlucky one – I was able to
go round the whole world, I was able to stay away for years at a time, but I
knew that she was always there waiting. The wind understood that, in order
really to suffer, one has to be faithful.
|
