Where there is life, there is always something that grows and something that withered... Der det er liv, er det alltid noe som gror, og noe som visner...

All things unto me are queries
That from normaless depat,
And their ceaseless asking wearies
               My heart.
Things are and seem, and nothing bears
The secret of life wears.


All things presence e`er is asking
Question of disturbing pain
With dreadful hesitation tasking
                 My brain.
How false is truth? How much doth seem
Since dreams are all and all`s a dream.


Before mystery my will faileth
Torn with war within the mind,
And reason like a coward quaileth
                   To find.
More than themselves all things reveal
Yet that they with themselves conceal.

Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced...