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(Translation from the bilingual edition book of Das Stunden Buch: The Book of Hours. Prayers to a Lowly God.
To the young monk. You stand perplexed, a barely grown boy/ Watch that your passion not be frittered away./ You know not to seek out pleasure, but joy;/ for the high office of groom you've been named,/ and your future bride is shame./ The great desire pulls you in,/ an arms appear all bare in flash./ On pious paintings even cheeks once pale/ turn crimson red with strange appeal;/ desire twist like snakes in the sun,/ reflecting its red in various shades,/ and is taut to the beat of the drum./ And suddenly you are left alone as a man/ with your two hands that hate you now so-/ given your will wrought a miracle then:/ And there come rushing from dark corridors/ through your veins the rumors of God."
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