A Song of the Degrees
For I think the glass is evil.
With a silver crashing,
A thin war of metal.
I have seen it melting above me.
I have known the stone-bright place,
The hall of clear colours.
O light bound and bent in, soul of the captive,
Why am I warned? Why am I sent away?
Why is your glitter full of curious mistrust?
O glass subtle and cunning, O powdery gold!
O filaments of amber, two-faced iridescence!