I WOULD ASK for still more, if I had the sky with all its stars, and the world with its endless riches; but I would be content with the smallest corner of this earth if only she were mine.
WHEN I LINGERED among my hoarded treasure I felt like a worm that feeds in the dark upon the fruit where it was born. I leave this prison of decay. I care not to haunt the mouldy stillness, for I go in search of ever-lasting youth; I throw away all that is not one with my life nor as light as my laughter. I run through time and, O my heart, in your chariot dances the poet who sings while he wanders.
