Again, barefooted, I go a-roaming,
The feather-grass floats in the wind,
What can be softier than sand
Of many-travelled country road?
The midday sun flames overflow
The brownish carpet, stiff and dried,
The hillside crystals so divine,
So pale the distant mountain glow.
The salty wind writhes at my side…
The thirst for drunkenness, for love -
The bitter herbs, the salty trough,
Can neither quench, nor pacify…
1919
vip/2011