My little one whose tongue is dumb, 
whose fingers cannot hold to things, 
who is so mercilessly young, 
he leaps upon the instant things, 

I hold him not. Indeed, who could? 
He runs into the burning wood. 
Follow, follow if you can! 
He will come out grown to a man 

and not remember whom he kissed, 
who caught him by the slender wrist 
and bound him with a tender yoke 
which, understanding not, he broke.