And wandered I alone, for what did my soul hunger by night and in labyrinthine paths? And climbed I mountains, whom did I ever seek, if not thee, upon mountains?

And all my wandering and mountain-climbing: a necessity was it merely, and a makeshift of the unhandy one:⁠—to fly only, wanteth mine entire will, to fly into thee !

And what have I hated more than passing clouds, and whatever tainteth thee? And mine own hatred have I even hated, because it tainted thee!

The passing clouds I detest⁠—those stealthy cats of prey: they take from thee and me what is common to us⁠—the vast unbounded Yea- and Amen-saying.