The familiar ghost who accompanies me
(Without, however, showing his face)
And whom I sometimes view with distaste,
Though I usually regard him hopefully,

Is a solemn, sober, ancient ghost,
Who doesn’t seem to like to converse. . .
Before this figure, ascetic and reserved,
My words have always stuck in my throat.

I dared to question him just once.
“Phantom whom I hate and love,
Who are you?” I asked with shame.

He said, “Your fellow human creatures
Have called me God for ten thousand years. . .
But I myself don’t know my name. . .”