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XXVIII
Obstinate are the trammels, but my heart aches when
I try to break them.
Freedom is all I want, but to hope for it I feel ashamed. I am
certain that priceless wealth is in thee, and that thou art my best
friend, but I have not the heart to sweep away the tinsel that fills
my room
The shroud that covers me is a shroud of dust and death; I hate
it, yet hug it in love.
My debts are large, my failures great, my shame secret and heavy;
yet when I come to ask for my good, I quake in fear lest my prayer
be granted.
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