Instead Of A Homeland I Hold The

We Breathed The Air Of Freedom Without Knowing The Language Or Any Person.

Instead Of A Homeland I Hold The Metamorphoses Of The World.

World, They Have Taken The Small Children Like Butterflies And Thrown Them, Beating Their Wings, Into The Fire--

When Sleep Leaves The Body Like Smoke And Man, Sated With Secrets, Drives The Overworked Nag Of Quarrel Out Of Its Stall, Then The Fire-breathing Union Begins Anew . . .

When Sleep Enters The Body Like Smoke And Man Journeys Into The Abyss Like An Extinguished Star That Is Lighted Elsewhere, Then All Quarrel Ceases, Overworked Nag That Has Tossed The Nightmare Grip Of Its Rider.