Rising from a booming rhombus
Of the pre-dawn squares,
My tune is sealed up with a stopper
Of the unending rains.
Don't seek under that clear sky for me
Among the mob of the chilly partners, friends.
I'm wet "to a thread" from intuition,
North's from the childhood my bed.
And he's in dark, he's all - the image
Of lips, downweighted by a strain,
From a threshold he looks sullenly,
As night, he's hard that to explain.
I'm feared with that person utterly,
But he is only one, aware of the thing,
Why, someone named, - was taken by him on hire,
Once, somewhere... And it is me...
1913, 1928