WILL people accept them?
(i. e. these songs).
As a timorous wench from a centaur
(or a centurian),
Already they flee, howling in terror.
Will they be touched with the truth?
Their virgin stupidity is untemptable.
I beg you, my friendly critics,
Do not set about to procure me an audience.
I mate with my free kind upon the crags;
the hidden recesses
Have heard the echo of my heels.
in the cool light,
in the darkness.