When a despair and an evil go still,
The dream comes. And we fall asleep
On the other poles of the earth.
You, perhaps, are dreaming me about
In that hour. The hours are counting
The centuries. The dreams rise at distance in thought.
And I see your image in my dreams,
So beautiful. Before the night, ardent and evil.
Which was coming to me frequently. Lo:
THAT IS YOU, the only you, who bloomed some day really
There, over the mountain cogged, hazy,
In the light of the unfading dawn.
1.aug.1908