FAR IN THE NORTHWEST STANDS A HOUSE, HIGH ITS TOWER IN THE CLOUDS. EMBROIDERED CURTAINS ARE AT THE WINDOWS. THE TOWER RISES IN THREE STEPS, AND FROM THE TOWER FLOATS A SONG, A SAD SONG WITH A SAD LUTE PLAYING BESIDE IT. WHO CAN THE SINGER BE?

SURELY IT IS SHE WHO HAS NO HUSBAND LEFT TO HER, NO FATHER LEFT, NO CHILD. HER SONG FOLLOWS THE WIND; IT RISES AND FALLS. WITH THE SINGING, SOBBING ... GRIEF IS VICTOR OVER HER STRONG WILL.

SHE DOES NOT SORROW THAT HER LIFE IS SAD, BUT THAT SO FEW CAN UNDERSTAND THE SORROW IN HER SONG. O, TO FLY LIKE THOSE TWO WILD GEESE, RISING WITH BEATING WINGS! [Anonymous]