Hearts with one purpose alone/Through summer and winter seem/Enchanted to a stone/To trouble the living stream.
When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, suddenly I meet your face.
The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.
Our own acts are isolated and one act does not buy absolution for another.
Be secret and exult, Because of all things known That is most difficult.
A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, our stitching and unstitching has been naught.