Dove that ventured outside,        flying far from the dovecote:
housed and protected again,     one with the day, the night,
knows what serenity is,              for she has felt her wings
pass through all distance and fear       in the course of her wanderings.

The doves that remained at home,     never exposed to loss,
innocent and secure,               cannot know tenderness;
only the won-back heart              can ever be satisfied: free,
through all it has given up,                to rejoice in its mastery. 

Being arches itself                 over the vast abyss.
Ah the ball that we dared,     that we hurled into infinite space,
Doesn’t it fill our hands            differently with its return:
heavier by the weight             of where it has been.