Utterance have I become altogether, and the brawling of a brook from high rocks: downward into the valleys will I hurl my speech.

And let the stream of my love sweep into unfrequented channels! How should a stream not finally find its way to the sea!

Forsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and self-sufficing; but the stream of my love beareth this along with it, down⁠—to the sea!

New paths do I tread, a new speech cometh unto me; tired have I become⁠—like all creators⁠—of the old tongues. No longer will my spirit walk on worn-out soles.

Too slowly runneth all speaking for me:⁠—into thy chariot, O storm, do I leap! And even thee will I whip with my spite!

Like a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide seas, till I find the Happy Isles where my friends sojourn;⁠—