Poem XXXV

1This is Love: to fly heavenward,To rend, every instant, a hundred veils.

2The first moment, to renounce life;The last step, to fare without feet.

3To regard this world as invisible,Not to see what appears to one’s self.

4‘O heart,’ I said, ‘may it bless theeTo have entered the circle of lovers,

5To look beyond the range of the eye,To penetrate the windings of the bosom!

6Whence did this breath come to thee, O my soul,Whence this throbbing, O my heart?

7O bird, speak the language of birds:I can understand thy hidden meaning.’

8The soul answered: ‘I was in the (divine) FactoryWhile the house of water and clay was a-baking.