depths and in the far distances... from every place, there came to him voices and echoes... tuned, yet without the purity of melody... sweet, yet without the innocence of sweetness... hot, deep of echo, rough of accent, all joining and meeting in one warm, far-off voice that said: "Glory, all glory, to Man!" "He who created his own self," "and with his self created all selves." "Yesterday, in the great night, Man was born together with sin," "and with sin the new life was born in us."

Where to, my precious treasure,

Caves of Emerald and Ruby

where to?! — In the sea, Mother, there is a wondrous tale... mountains of ruby stored up, waiting for me. Tomorrow I shall return to your heart with heaps of them — and with sweet young girls!!

•

— Where to, good plowman, you who pour blessings into my breast — where to? My soil is kind and tender... and my vineyard bountiful and generous!! And the earth — your earth — is openhanded; her breast does not stint. Why then does your breast stint its love, good plowman? — In the sea, O earth, in the sea, there is a wondrous tale: mountains of ruby stored up, waiting for me... vineyards of emerald with the clusters hanging in them... Tomorrow I shall come back with golden soil for your soil... tomorrow I shall come back with clusters of emerald and hang them on your trellises... In the sea, O earth, in the sea!! And the nights grow desolate...

From where... they never crossed my mind;

my heart dies upon them;

from where... did love gather them?

Your lips... O outpouring of the vines —

and my mouth murmurs the question:

from where?

From two locks of dew;

the rose wiped his cheek;

O rose, enough for you that they —

— From the fragrance of the hills;

from two tremors of shadow;

with them, and slept in coquetry;

have slain your lips with their bounty.

•

From where did love gather them?

From two jars that blazed —

From where...?

— From the glow of the sands;

from your heart's hunger for men.

•

Your luscious mouth — it has been steeped;

let it drown in my blood;

I love it, astray as I am —

in perfume from the lip of beauty;

let it live forever in my fancy —

the color of sin and error.

...After you, the world is not the color of happiness,

nor does my brow touch the brow of the sky.

It is as though this night within my ribs

had never known light, nor the color of radiance.

I ask my heart about you — it is like me,

in the bewilderment of silence and the death of hope.

Where is love? O sweetness of the day of love,

the day my wings were in the folds of space!

After you, April is not at his wedding,

nor does the forenoon spread its blaze of brilliance.

It is as though there were a hoarseness in his throat

in which perfume died and song was choked.

I see the white roads in desolation,

as though winter lived in them.