As swiftly as the world is changing,
like racing clouds,
all that is finished
falls home to the ancient source.
Above the change and the loss,
farther and freer,
your singing continues,
god of the lyre.
How can we embrace our sorrows
or learn how to love,
or see what we lose
when we die? Only your song
over the earth
honors our life and makes it holy.
Sonnets to Orpheus I, 19
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