I go to join the shooting stars of midnight, to plunge into the
profound shadow.

I am like the storm-driven cloud of summer that, having cast off
its crown of gold, hangs as a sword the thunderbolt upon a chain
of lightning.

In desperate joy I run upon the dusty path of the despised; I
draw near to your final welcome.

The child finds its mother when it leaves her womb.

When I am parted from you, thrown out from your household, I am
free to see your face.



XI

It decks me only to mock me, this jewelled chain of mine.

It bruises me when on my neck, it strangles me when I struggle to
tear it off.

It grips my throat, it chokes my singing.

Could I but offer it to your hand, my Lord, I would be saved.

Take it from me, and in exchange bind me to you with a garland,