September 12 (Mars) Liber VII, Cap. I, v. 8-16
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8. Let my cry of pain be crystallized into a little white fawn to run away into the forest!
9. Thou art a centaur, O my God, from the violet-blossoms that crown Thee to the hoofs of the horse.
10. Thou art harder than tempered steel; there is no diamond beside Thee.
11. Did I not yield this body and soul?
12. I woo thee with a dagger drawn across my throat.
13. Let the spout of blood quench Thy blood-thirst, O my God!
14. Thou art a little white rabbit in the burrow Night.
15. I am greater than the fox and the hole.
16. Give me Thy kisses, O Lord God!