Monday, March 15, 2010
A fortune has occurred, so much in the night,
To misdeal it comes to solitude, in the very night.
It is an encumbrance of the soul to misdeal the soul,
For the night’s chances are to be held in esteem.
This fortune inhabits my soul for its work is precious,
The mischief-maker prances through the door when precious;
If he dances, the body and mind retaliate, and they command,
The commander himself cannot command as well as me.