Once more
Like a flame there rolls
In my breast the great desire.
Ah!
The child of my mother
Has been enmeshed in a whirling fury, as his face is enmeshed by the soft and terrestrial flame of his hair;
But now I, a better mother, I myself like a rigid son, shall give birth to a hairy soul!
I hope! I hope! I aspire.
You cannot undo this tough soul with your woman's nails.
Again it fills its iron harness.