What shall I say of the great years in-between?
Ah, little, little …
Once I thought one could tell all …
One cannot tell all: and the last word lies buried,
As in everyone it lies buried.

All I can say is that I went a perilous path,
For he who would overcome himself must break with much that is called goodness,
And much that is named great,
Since evil is ore, too, that needs to be smelted,
And good is evil in the transcending.

Read between the lines: the songs speak:
In the climbing of the mountain there is a God-path and a Devil-path,
And both must be covered, inch by inch, if we would go up.

Beyond Golden Bird, Stanner: a parable …
And the meaning waits for time to make it plain. . . .