«My lips approaching / Your lips, / Mysteries happening again, / And the world like a temple. We, like priests, / Create the rite. / Sternly in the great abode, / Words resound. Angels, falling prostrate, / Sing the tropa...»
«Who is it singing, a dream, nature, / The sky — the tender sleep of reeds? / Every leaf cast in a trill, / Light and shadow chiming in April, — / Wind, only you, the most unskilled, / Blow into the copper pipe further off. The old hymn! The worldly chorus! / In days, when the mammot...»
«Let life torment, and the day lived / Trouble with echoes of bitter thoughts, / And sorrow gnaw the soul cunningly. / Look in the skies of night; / Where the starry dew falls, / Where the Milky Way, like a streak, / Has lain to multiply light with light; / Look humbly into the miracles...»
«Don’t listen to me, no worth to it: the poor / Words I speak; I lie. And if / the heart has conquering knowledge. / I keep it from people. Like children, people are evil and innocent, / Loving, they know how to offend. / They aren’t of mountains — buts valleys… / They need to kn...»