"I have grown weary of the winds of heaven.I will not be a reed to hold the soundOf whatsoever breath the gods may blow,Turning my torment into music for them.They gave me life; the gift was bountiful,I lived with the swift singing strength of fire,Seeking for beauty as a flame for fuel —Beauty in all things and in every hour.The gods have given life — I gave them song;The debt is paid and now I turn to go."