Fear I not, my stallion so bold,
Black as starless night, and noble stance of cold.
This phantom is the heart of truth, pumping ooze through my veins;
A tarlike obscurity, which thickens till it reins.
And rains! down from the torrent in a galloping stampede,
And tramples the bare vessel of my soul in need.
In kneading me down as clay in the hands of a potter,
Down, down I spiral in eternal slaughter,
But still I do not fear.