terror when it returns into the dark.

But the play is the same that comes and goes with the rhythm of
the endless music.

You hide your treasure in the palm of your hand, and we cry that
we are robbed.

But open and shut your palm as you will, the gain and the loss
are the same.

At the game you play with your own self you lose and win at once.



LIII

I have kissed this world with my eyes and my limbs; I have wrapt
it within my heart in numberless folds; I have flooded its days
and nights with thoughts till the world and my life have grown
one,--and I love my life because I love the light of the sky so
enwoven with me.

If to leave this world be as real as to love it--then there must
be a meaning in the meeting and the parting of life.

If that love were deceived in death, then the canker of this
deceit would eat into all things, and the stars would shrivel and
grow black.