Come down — down from the hill.

It's too soon to walk so high,

Where wind devours the breath

And light rejects the eye.

Descend — down to the plain —

Now walk the lower place.

Strange how the breath comes slow

— All is dark before one's face.

— An alien to each.

At neither can one stay.

What path to place the feet,

Compelled to walk — which way?

One's place to reach — or stay,

Is not contained in time.

Unmade for low — or high —

But fashioned for to climb!