我的灵魂。我向那蜿蜒的古老楼梯召唤;把你所有的心思都集中在陡坡上，集中在残破的、摇摇欲坠的城垛上，集中在星光灿烂的空气中，集中在标记着暗礁的那颗星上;把所有游荡的思想都固定在所有思想都完成的地方:谁能把黑暗和我的灵魂区分开来呢?我膝上那把隐密的刀，是佐藤那把古老的刀，依然如故，依然如剃刀般锋利，依然像一面镜子，没有被几个世纪玷污;那开花的，丝绸的，古老的刺绣，从某个宫女的衣服上撕下来，绕在捆绑和伤口的木鞘上，残破的，仍能保护，褪了色的装饰我的灵魂。为什么一个年事已高的人的想象力还记得那些象征着爱情和战争的东西呢?想想祖先的黑夜吧，如果想象力蔑视大地，而理智却漫无目的地想这想那，就能把你从生与死的罪恶中解救出来。我的自我。五百年前，他的第三个家族——蒙塔斯基，制作了它，周围是我不知道是什么刺绣的花朵——心的紫色——我把所有这些都当作白天的象征，象征着夜晚，象征着塔楼，像一个士兵的权利一样，要求再次犯罪。 My Soul. Such fullness in that quarter overflows And falls into the basin of the mind That man is stricken deaf and dumb and blind, For intellect no longer knows Is from the Ought, or knower from the Known - That is to say, ascends to Heaven; Only the dead can be forgiven; But when I think of that my tongue's a stone. II My Self. A living man is blind and drinks his drop. What matter if the ditches are impure? What matter if I live it all once more? Endure that toil of growing up; The ignominy of boyhood; the distress Of boyhood changing into man; The unfinished man and his pain Brought face to face with his own clumsiness; The finished man among his enemies? - How in the name of Heaven can he escape That defiling and disfigured shape The mirror of malicious eyes Casts upon his eyes until at last He thinks that shape must be his shape? And what's the good of an escape If honour find him in the wintry blast? I am content to live it all again And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch, A blind man battering blind men; Or into that most fecund ditch of all, The folly that man does Or must suffer, if he woos A proud woman not kindred of his soul. I am content to follow to its source Every event in action or in thought; Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot! When such as I cast out remorse So great a sweetness flows into the breast We must laugh and we must sing, We are blest by everything, Everything we look upon is blest.