Alone amongst the variable mysteries,
ridiculous secrets, innumerable dogmas,
philosophical systems of ill repute,
and muttered mantra I cannot describe:
I find the object whispering a dazzling
metaphor, dew singing scattered rhymes,
and clouds resembling antique rhetoric
forgotten by the turning of a dome:
So now, surprised by the delicate glory
of these contradictions, I find joy alone
reverberating like an eternal memory:
And still I am not justified: I serve
nonsense offerings to what is hidden,
and worship that which I will never know.
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