This rainy evening the wind is restless.
I look at the swaying branches and ponder over the greatness of
all things.
Storm of midnight, like a giant child awakened in the untimely dark,
has begun to play and shout.
Thou raisest thy waves vainly to follow thy lover, O sea, thou
lonely bride of the storm.
I am ashamed of my emptiness, said the Word to the Work.
I know how poor I am when I see you, said the Work to the Word.
Time is the wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes
it mere change and no wealth.
Truth in her dress finds facts too tight.
In fiction she moves with ease.
When I travelled to here and to there, I was tired of thee, O Road,
but now when thou leadest me to everywhere I am wedded to thee in love.