III.
O black, mysterious Ground, tell me how or wherefore have we sinned, that thou art prone to hug the beautiful, the chaste, the rare—and yet so cold thy love. Stones alone hast thou for pillows for the tender, the loved, the fair.
O black, mysterious Ground, tell me how or wherefore have we sinned, that thou art prone to hug the beautiful, the chaste, the rare—and yet so cold thy love. Stones alone hast thou for pillows for the tender, the loved, the fair.