Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn calm to hearken unto thy longing, Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel, around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk: Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath light marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet blue paths, Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master: he, however, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamond vintage knife, Thy great deliverer, my soul, the nameless one for whom future songs only will find names!