May I someday, at the exit of grim understanding,
sing out jubilation and praise to affirmative angels!
May none of the clear-struck hammers of the heart
fall on loose, uncertain or breaking strings.
May my streaming face make me more shining. May humble weeping
bloom. Oh nights, how dear you will be to me then,
nights of grieving, Alas that I did not on my knees, kneeling more,
accept you, more yielding loose myself disconsolate sisters
In your loosened hair.
We spendthrifts of the sorrows.
How we stare ahead of them into mournful duration
to see if maybe they’ll end. But they are really only
our winter-hardy foliage, our dusky evergreen,
one of the seasons of our secret year - not only a season,
but place, settlement, camp, grounds, habitation
Translator unknown
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