Groaning, I strove to tear myself from those strong and bony hands.
And now you weep and would bring me again to that terrible repose!
The wind ruffles my hair and the heartbreak of the earth lies stark and bare before my despairing eyes! And I look and am filled with shame!
O the fate of the bee and the fly whose life lasts only a season and endures but a single day!
And the birds of the wood are also alive; and the caterpillar that crawls on the leaf and the broom that roots in the sand,
And the ravening beast and the thistle with purple flowers!
And you, who are dying, you counsel me to die!
I cannot loose my limbs from these tough ligatures!
O world! O self! O shameful destiny!
Let me be iron and like a thing of wood!