XL

O fire, my brother, I sing victory to you.

You are the bright red image of fearful freedom.

You swing your arms in the sky, you sweep your impetuous fingers
across the harp-string, your dance music is beautiful.

When my days are ended and the gates are opened you will burn to
ashes this cordage of hands and feet.

My body will be one with you, my heart will be caught in the
whirls of your frenzy, and the burning heat that was my life will
flash up and mingle itself in your flame.



XLI

The Boatman is out crossing the wild sea at night.

The mast is aching because of its full sails filled with the
violent wind.

Stung with the night's fang the sky falls upon the sea, poisoned
with black fear.

The waves dash their heads against the dark unseen, and the
Boatman is out crossing the wild sea.