Hail to the spirit that can unite us;
for we live really in figures. Always
go the clocks with little strides
along with our intrinsic days.
Without knowing our proper place,
we act as if from true relations.
The antennae feel their sister-stations,
and the emptiness of space
bore...pure tension. O music of forces!
Aren't the interruptions turned away
by the indulgent affairs of the day?
However the peasant works and sows,
he never reaches those deep sources
where seeds turn into summer. Earth bestows.
-translated by C.F. MacIntyre, University of Berkeley press, 1960.