Undaunted you are coming from my breast into my sight, chanting a potent spell and confused stories.
With one breath you bring into whirling the heavens and firmament; what would one rotting perception be before your spell?
You wash away the sins of both worlds at a single penitence; why have you tightened my slip around your finger?
You have a Job in every corner, a Jacob on every side; love has broken their door and stolen their cloths from the house.
Parade forth to the cemetery and in that garden proclaim, “Rise, ancient dead, dance, crumbled body!”
At once the whole cemetery becomes populated like a city, all dancing, all happy, fate turning back from all.
I do not boast of this at random, I am not weaving a fantasy; I have seen this a hundred ways, I am not speaking of what I have not seen.
If anyone says, “I have fled from the people, I have gone,” say, “He speaks the truth if his shirt is torn from behind.”
Be silent; listen, speaker, to the sorrow of the beloved with the lover; the {object} of the quest is obstinate, so long as the questor is a seeker.
