Fire upon fire forces from within
Its path through hardened stone.
Glowing veins seep, uncertain,
Bring forth, flowing, new being,
Awaken, shivering, ancient brooding.
Washed smooth in the river of time
There ripens, in the world's womb,
Still sleeping after ages,
That ur-seed, that grew great,
And spread a stony wingspan,
Which it wrapped around the world.
And, long ago smoothed from ore,
Borne silently in the ocean,
It watches over our hearts
And shows us a still, silent way
Leading there through dark hours,
Through the branchings of age upon age.
It remains deeply bound to the mountain
That awaits already its end,
Which seeps forth from it through old wounds.
The seed that grew in black depths
Conceals a yearning like that of the star's
To whom we, lost at night, call out.
But closed fast yet remains its kernel
In which that hope sleeps.
Still, no human grasps its musings;
Reason remains cut off.
Only in dreams do we brush against those wings,
Unknown to the waking,
That bring the seed its yearning.