"Whence did this breath come to thee, O my soul; Whence this throbbing, O my heart? O bird, speak the language of birds I can understand thy hidden meaning. The soul answered ‘I was in the divine factory While the house of water-and-clay was a-baking I was flying away from the material workshop While the workshop was being created When I could resist no more, they dragged me To mould me into shape like a ball.’"