Give me the flute, and sing
immortality lies in a song
and even after we've perished
the flute continues to lament
have you taken refuge in the woods
away from places like me
followed streams on their courses
and climbed up the rocks.
Did you ever bathe in a perfume
and dry yourself with a light
drink the dawn as wine
rarefied in goblets of ether
give me the flute then and sing
the best of prayer is song
and even when life perishes
the flute continues to lament
have you spent an evening
as I have done
among vines
where the golden candelabra
clusters hang down
did you sleep on the grass at night
and let space be your blanket
abstaining from all that will come
forgetful of all that has passed
give the flute then and sing
in singing is Justice for the heart
and even after every guilt
has perished
the flute continues to lament
give the flute and sing
forget illness and its cure
people are nothing but lines
which are scribbled on water.
They all are but the tunnels of moles,
threads in the spider's web.
For he who lives in weakness,
slowly he will die.
Forest is the abode of life,
and were the days
gathered in my hand,
there would i strew them,
but time it is that chooses
from my soul; whenever i long for
forest time bars my way woth excuse; 
the fates have ways unaltering,
and men's aims are 
beyond their impotent reach.