when i lingered among my hoarded treasure i felt like a worm that feeds in the dark upon the fruit where it was born.

i leave this prison of decay.

i care not to haunt the mouldy stillness, for i go in search of everlasting youth; i throw away all that is not one with my life nor as light as my laughter.

i run through time and, o my heart, in your chariot dances the poet who sings while he wanders.