A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.
Consume my heart away, sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is, and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.
From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.
We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
And God, the herdsman, goads them on behind.
Where there is nothing, there is God.