That living and unfettered light
Arriving from a distant, mysterious star
And reflecting off our face,
Making it shine with a strange glow. . .
That hidden lamp which turns our mask
Transparent and radiant
With joy, sorrow or despair
And still other feelings arisen
From an angel's or a demon's heart. . .
That true and ideal portrait composed
Of soul and body and whose frame
We are, aimlessly wandering. . .
That's it, yes, our apparition, us,
Made of stars, shadows, raging winds
And countless centuries, finally emerging
Out here, on earth, in the light of the sun.
...
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