Give me a little warmth; stroke my wise forehead with your fingers; in its fine outlines you will find the form of a cup into which flows wisdom, the dew of the evening-flowers.

When I draw the air by my writhing, a trace is left in it--the design of the finest of webs, the web of dream-charms, the enchantment of noiseless movements, the inaudible hiss of gliding lines.

I am silent and I sway myself.

I look ahead and I sway myself.

What strange burden am I carrying on my neck?
I love you.
I always was a fascinating creature, and loved tenderly those I loved.
Come closer to me.