"Not where I wert, beloved, nay
Where I am. Aye, and where thou art
There also am I. I am pithed in a desire
To illumine. I would become a holy fire
In the tabernacle of all men's hearts,
A reflection of that white pure flame
Which was embered upon Calvary and hath burned
As a beacon for ages.
"Not what I wert,
But what I am. My day
Is but a chain of incidents
Even as thine shall be.
From this I may take no part.
Even so with thee. My day is but
A cup which holds the molten stuff
Which shall become me. No thing
That I do with my hands save that
My heart is the master, may I retain.
"Not what I wert, but what I am.
I am resurrected from out the cunning
Of thine immagination. Yea, I have poured
That which is me unto the cup
Of thy day, a molten stuff,
And become anew, manifest, without place
Or instant. I am conceived and become concrete.
What is the answer?"
"Yea, I be me." "I be like to the wind,and yea, like to it do blow me ever, yea, since time. Do ye to tether me unto today I blow me then tomorrow, and do ye to tether me unto tomorrow I blow me then today."...."I be like the wind, who leaveth not track, but ever 'bout, and yet like to the rain who groweth grain for thee to reap."
"A phantom? Weel enough, prove thee thyself to me! I say, behold, here I be, buskins, kirtle, cap and pettyskirts, and much tongue! Weel, what hast thou to prove thee?"
"I should sing even though the winds arose and blew down my throat my song. Yea, I would swallow it and make it become a part of my flesh so that when the flesh had become dusts, behold through His magic, some field should spurt blooms more sweetly scented. Give birth unto a song! Even if it dieth at its first sound, it hath struck the bell of time."