The Book of Poverty and DeathAlone Thou wanderest through space.
Profound One with the hidden face;
Thou art Poverty's great rose,
The eternal metamorphose
Of gold into the light of sun.

Thou art the mystic homeless One;
Into the world Thou never came.
Too mighty Thou, too great to name;
Voice of the storm, Song that the wild wind sings.
Thou Harp that shatters those who play Thy strings!

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