Refrain
Free our minds from ritual fear,
The guilty source of many sorrows.
Let Reason be the Word,
Unerring as the flight of swallows.
Stanza Four
The fugue of Time installs
Its interlacing melodies.
Gravity, the true creator.
Blossom, nebulae. Stars
Scatter like the bright leaves of Fall
Before a random wind.
They seek no special purpose.
So why should we whose senses
Flourish in the actual
Believe in our eternity.
The swallow swims through air
Its clock and compass set
With immaculate precision,
Alighting on its summer station.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem