Am I a harp that the hands of this man may touch me? Or a flute that his breathe may pass through me? to command that perfect note... A seeker of silences I am; what treasures have I found in silence? If this is the day of harvest, in what forgotten field have I sowed the seed and in what unremembered season? If this indeed be the hour in which I lift up my lantern, is it not that flame which burns within? Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern and the guardian of my nights shall fill it with oil. And he shall set flame to light it.