It is good for strength not to be
To its own weakness, good for the deep urn to run over, good to
The peaks and the deeps, who can endure it,
Good to be hurt, who can be healed afterward: but you that have whetted
Too bitter an edge, too keenly daring,
So that the color of a leaf can make you tremble and your own thoughts like
Tear the live mind: were your bones mountains,
Your blood rivers to endure it? and all that labor of discipline labors to death.
Delight is exquisite, pain is more present;
You have sold the armor, you have bought shining with burning, one should be stronger than
To fight baresark in the stabbing
In the rage of the stars:
I tell you unconsciousness is the treasure, the tower, the fortress;
Referred to that one may live anything;
The temple and the tower: poor dancer on the flints and shards in the temple porches, turn home.
