The world is everything that is the case,
Or so the tongue-tied, wrung-dry heart deduces
From all its worldly things. There is the case
That holds the violin my daughter plays.
The world, like brandy off a pan, reduces
To pure partita and partakes of grace.
The world is everything. It is the face
And veil, in Austria as in Eleusis.
The music morphs while the logician prays
Et lux perpetua luceat eis.