The sky is a great turquoise shining glee,

All the earth is gathered up in the blue sea

Ev'n the green fields tend thereto in their joy,

The whole day playeth like a happy boy

Among the dales the hours build with their glee.

How happy, had I no cares, would I be!

But there is too much sorrow in mere seeing

The feminine disease of consciousness

Eats like a worm into the source of being.

The very thought I live gives me distress.

My heart is felt by me like some heavy place.