FLUSHED WITH the glow of sunset
earth seems like a ripe fruit
ready to be harvested by night.

BONDS? INDEED they are bonds, this love and this hope in our hearts.
They are as mother's arms pressing the child to the warmth of her bosom.
Thirst? Yes, it is the thirst which leads life to each source of its joy in the breasts of the eternal mother.
Who would take from the child this thirst of his growing life and break through the bonds of the mother's encircling arms?

WHEN I LINGERED among my hoarded treasure I felt like a worm that feeds in the dark upon the fruit where it was born.
I leave this prison of decay.
I care not to haunt the mouldy stillness, for I go in search of ever-lasting youth; I throw away all that is not one with my life nor as light as my laughter.
I run through time and, O my heart, in your chariot dances the poet who sings while he wanders.