Nature,
we are by her surrounded and embraced.
Powerless
to step outside her bounds,
And
powerless to enter more deeply in.
Uninvited
and unprepared
She takes
us into the circling of her dance
And
drives us with her on,
Until we
begin to tire
And fall
away from her arms.
She
creates ever new forms;
All is
renewed and still as of old.
She
builds ever and destroys ever;
She lives
in endless children,
And the
mother, where is she?
She is
the unique artist…
She acts
a play…
There is
eternal living, becoming and moving in her;
She is
ever in transformation
And there
s not a moment stagnation in herr.
Her tread
is measured,
Her
exceptions rare,
Her laws
unchangeable.
She has
premeditated , and considers steadfastly.
Human
beings are all in her and she in all.
Even the
unnatural is in Nature;
Even the
clumsiest pedantry has something of her
genius.
She loves
herself…
She
rejoices in illusion…
Her
children are without number.
She
spurts her creations out of nothing into
being.
Life is
her most beautiful invention;
Death her
device
For
having a lot more life.
She wraps
a human being in stupor
And spurs
him ever toward the light.
One obeys
her laws
Even when
he rebels against them;
One works
with her
Even when
he would work against her.
She makes
everything that she gives a blessing.
She has
no language or speech,
But she
creates tongues and hearts
Through
which she feels and speaks.
Her crown
is love
She makes
clefts between all creatures,
And all
things she would swallow up.
She has
isolated all things,
To draw
all together again.
She is
all.
She
rewards herself and punishes herself,
Delights
and torments herself.
Past and
future she does not know.
The
present time is her eternity.
She is
kind. She is wise and still.
She is
whole and yet ever uncompleted.
To each
she appears in a particular shape.
She
conceals herself in a thousand names.
And is
always the same.
She has
drawn me in;
She will
lead me out again.
I trust
myself to her.
All has
been spoken by her,
For all
she is to blame.
Everything is her
due.
