Snatches of dim phrases appear sometimes like voices at big distance,
When their chorus is united, like light and shadow.
In a damp, misty darkness the round dances
Of smouldering lights are whirling and time is twisting endless spirals.

Stars are trembling in the eye's flame, in the prototype of their essence,
And red whirlwinds in a smouldering sky will embellish the crown of the worlds.
Behind the black gates the horizons full of unprecedented strength,
Like the deepness of magic mirrors, which the monks hold in front of themselves.