It

It transmutes its life into this, my friend and this is it, this sunlit plain, it is that dark cloud that appears above, it is the nervous buffalo - it takes fright in them, yet it is the lightning and the thunder, it steps out of its own way or is trampled and torn asunder, and after - in the distance, when it is gone, it is the silence, my friend and my waking thought, that all is one ; it burns now as stars up there and sees itself through my blind eyes - allows us to be what we are not; from the depth and the greatest span I say to you my friend, it is the spirit that sleep-walks as man. .....