WHEN IN THE depth of the night in the phantasmal light of the sick-bed appears your wakeful presence, it seems to me that the countless suns and stars have guaranteed my little life: then I know that you will leave me and the fear spreads from sky to sky, the fear of the terrible indifference of the All.
I CLING TO THIS living raft, my body, in the narrow stream of my earthly years. I leave it when the crossing is over. And then? I do not know if the light there and the darkness are the same. The Unknown is the perpetual freedom: He is pitiless in his love. He crushes the shell for the pearl, dumb in the prison of the dark. You muse and weep for the days that are done, poor heart! Be glad that days are to come! The hour strikes, 0 pilgrim! It is time for you to take the parting of the ways! His face will be unveiled once again and you shall meet.