I rise at the break of dawn, br still dreaming, half awake, br wondering whether I’m gone; br but, the sun on the lake, br br the ancient stones, the pine-trees, br and the mad hungry birds br (in a language without words br borne to me by the breeze) br br softly utter, ‘No, br on and on you must go; br this life do what you can; br eternity has no end.