With every second, always in position
In the mystic dance of the worlds,
We revolve through the firmament.
Into the shining spheres of spirits we radiate,
Bewitching in beauty.
About our heads
In aureoles
Golden hair scintillates
Tauted like sounding lariates
By the hurricane of our flight.
In our faces, which flame in ecstasy,
The chill of the ages blows
And, fatigued by the happiness of our flight,
Exhausted by a blaze of painful rapture,
With a cry which leaps through infinity,
Harmonious and exultant,
We sink, mystic dancers,
And in our blood, as if buried in roses,
We die.
Our sisters rise into our places,
Incandescent,
And in the song billowing thru the dusks of eternity
In ever growing waves,
Into newer and ever newer spheres advances,
In the clouds of dust raised,
The shining vanguard of mystery.