The summer demands and takes away too much. /But night, the reserved, the reticent, gives more than it takes
The soul establishes itself. But how far can it swim out through the eyes And still return safely to its nest?
Where then shall hope and fear their objects find?
Silly girls your heads full of boys
The gray glaze of the past attacks all know-how...
A yak is a prehistoric cabbage; of that, we can be sure.