He had three sons and they, all three,
When called, for the encampment left;
So the poor father was bereft
Of rest and peace, for war, thought he.
Is hard - one has no time to feel
That one has ceased to be.
And many months went in...
There was, as in the fairy tales,
As ne'er in the time's raid,
There was, of famous royal blood
A most beautiful maid.
She was her parents' only child,
Bright like the sun at noon,
Like the Virgin midst the saints
And among stars...
Thus, like the skin
of a shorn ewe, the day rises.
It is difficult to skin the self from a stone.
It is difficult to skin memory from a Greek.
But why should we talk about these!
After all,
light too has a skin,
light too can be...
What loneliness
to find no meaning
when there is a meaning
And what loneliness
to be blind in the full light of day,
and deaf, what loneliness,
amidst the swelling of a song
But not to understand
when there is no meaning,
and...
