One day the Earth will be just a blind space turning, night confused with day. Under the vast Andean sky there’ll be no more mountains, not a rock or ravine.
Dear little Slavic Sappho, we had thought, Hearing thy songs so sweetly, deftly wrought, That thou shouldst have an heritage one day Beyond thy father’s lands: his lute to play.
My desire is to find a shelter In some god forsaken wilderness, Bathe in virgin dew-drops Eden's water, Drink a scent of herbs – luxturiaters And lie-down in cradle-greenery;