Tum, illegible. Sing, leafy scenery
Of trees that trample swamps. Mountains in cloud,
Expose your crystal tips to the fire of a sun
That turns without repose. Immobile blue
(A patch is my ceiling), hide from God all-powerful
My fault in being born.
I stand erect and cymbals crash in a forest
Of copper and tin. An heroic flourish of horns
Blown by the ancient woods bristling with pikes,
Bows and slings, acclaims my step. Trumpets
Of muted silver answer the wrought-iron fifes
And beat a new measure on soil now firm.
Yonder the raging pent-up waves keep step
Striking the ramparts of cliffs along the shore.
What do these savage incantations ask
Of me, with the tap of tom-toms applauding
Like the diffused perfume of rose?
Perched like a glossy crow on polished blue,
The bird of solar flame surveys a zenith
Whose height it plans to scale. The cuckoo answers
Echoes. Across the shadow of the wolf, ants
Creep, for whom the sound of germinating
Wheat is subterranean thunder. Tired
Of prehistoric labors, seas spread out
On shores and with their mirror, gnawed by foam,
Stare at the skies possessed of dragon flies.
The silver clusters of fish circle the pond
Silent through sheets of willow and grass. Why hast
Thou made me like a world within a world
Where bison shake the virgin soil?
In winds that summon me I hear Thy voice,
Am
called by the unfurling of the sky.
The sea inscribes me on her waves. The depths
Of woods mingle with murmur of leaves my name.
The creeping briar restrains my feet which bleed.
