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Nausicaa 352
The wicked root becomes the clock which in turn
Delights the flighted eye.
To win love is to be lost at sea
And know the comfort of all
Those troubled seabirds-
You are their subject
They your kings.
Afflicted is the heart in its own dark
Hour
When
In the refuge of sin in
The practice of carrying your
Yearning to the altar
you crush the care of god.
The archangels hear confession
In the voices of nature and yet they are helpless to
Prevent exasperating time
They become wicked themselves and
Use their power to pierce the
Illuminated eye of inconstant love.
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