Will people accept them?

(i.e. these songs).

As a timorous wench from a centaur

(or a centurion),

Already they flee, howling in terror.

Will they be touched with the verisimilitudes?

Their virgin stupidity is untemptable.

I beg you, my friendly critics,

Do not set about to procure me an audience.

I mate with my free kind upon the crags;

the hidden recesses

Have heard the echo of my heels,

in the cool light,

in the darkness.