Memories - The overcoming of my youth:
All the gleams of divine fleeting love. How could you perish so soon for me? I think of you today as my dead ones. From you, my dearest dead ones, came unto me this sweet salvation, heart-opening and melting. For you I struggled and today I open my heart.
This dawn, I am the richest and most to be envied, and the most lonesome too. I have occupied you, and you have possessed me. To whom has there ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have fallen unto me?
I've been strangled, did they strangle you too, little bird? Did someone's malice shoot its arrows to wound your heart? At my most vulnerable point they did shoot me too with that arrow.
This strange marvel. You have come to me and my longing like a timid bird, but someday as a trusting one to a trusted one, innocent, reborn. I am love's heir and heritage. I will bloom to your memory with many-hued, wild-growing virtues.
In a happy hour of purity, everything shall be divine to me. All days shall be holy unto me in the language of a joyous wisdom. In that hour I want to dance as I have never yet danced and seduce my favorite minstrel. But now I am bathed in an awful melancholy. A mournful tune of longing. Only in this dance will I know how to speak the parable of the highest highs. Unspoken and unrealized my highest hope remains. In this hope all the visions and disappointments of my youth have perished.
How did I ever bear my past? How did I survive and surmount such wounds? How did my soul rise again out of those sepulchers?
Something invulnerable, unburiable is in me, it is called my will. Silently it proceeds, unchanged throughout the years. Its course directs my feet, soft of heart and relentless is its nature.
All the gleams of divine fleeting love. How could you perish so soon for me? I think of you today as my dead ones. From you, my dearest dead ones, came unto me this sweet salvation, heart-opening and melting. For you I struggled and today I open my heart.
This dawn, I am the richest and most to be envied, and the most lonesome too. I have occupied you, and you have possessed me. To whom has there ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have fallen unto me?
I've been strangled, did they strangle you too, little bird? Did someone's malice shoot its arrows to wound your heart? At my most vulnerable point they did shoot me too with that arrow.
This strange marvel. You have come to me and my longing like a timid bird, but someday as a trusting one to a trusted one, innocent, reborn. I am love's heir and heritage. I will bloom to your memory with many-hued, wild-growing virtues.
In a happy hour of purity, everything shall be divine to me. All days shall be holy unto me in the language of a joyous wisdom. In that hour I want to dance as I have never yet danced and seduce my favorite minstrel. But now I am bathed in an awful melancholy. A mournful tune of longing. Only in this dance will I know how to speak the parable of the highest highs. Unspoken and unrealized my highest hope remains. In this hope all the visions and disappointments of my youth have perished.
How did I ever bear my past? How did I survive and surmount such wounds? How did my soul rise again out of those sepulchers?
Something invulnerable, unburiable is in me, it is called my will. Silently it proceeds, unchanged throughout the years. Its course directs my feet, soft of heart and relentless is its nature.
