Must everyone that I love die and leave me alone?
Must you wither in my hands like a flower of the stream before I had asked "Who are you?" and you had answered me?
Pit of weariness! Horror in which I stand! Is there someone here?
Is there something stable here? Who will carve a letter upon the face of the Mountain?
We can eat; we can lay a dish before ourselves and feed;
But the gravel sets our teeth on edge and ever from our eyes there flow invisible tears.
Then go to the common home! And now I say to you,
Hope not to still survive, being dead,
For how can any man see without his eyes, and how else will he be able
To grasp than with his hands?