I FALL full length into all life, And my lust for living roars within me. No pleasures in the world can equal The stupendous joy of one who can't tell it Except by rolling on the ground in the grass and the daisies, Mingling with the dirt until his suit and hair are ***** . . . There are no verses that can grant this. Pluck a blade of grass, bite into it, and you will understand, You will completely understand what I incompletely express. I crave to be a root Pursuing my inner sensations like a sap . . . I'd like to have all the senses -- including My intellect, imagination and inhibition -- On my skin's surface so that I could roll over the rough ground More deeply within, feeling more roughness and bumps. I'd be satisfied if my body were my soul, For only then would all winds, all suns and all rains Be felt by me in the way I'd like. This being impossible, I despair, I rage, I wish I could gnash at my suit And have a lions tough claws to rip at my flesh Until the blood would flow, flow, flow, flow . . . I suffer because all of this is absurd, As if I could scare somebody With my hostile feeling toward destiny, toward God, Which arises when we confront the Ineffable And suddenly perceive our weakness and smallness.