The sound is nigh. And, succumbed to the sound,
Soul’s rebirth.
And, in dreams, I’m pressing your hand to my mouth,
Holding breath.
And when dreaming, - again I’m a boy, and a lover,
The ravine, and the weeds,
And in weeds, thorny dogrose is towering over,
Evening mist.
Through the flowering leaves and the brambles, I know,
The old house peers again at my heart.
And the sky is re-opening over and over,
And your sight.
It’s your voice – for its cryptic mysterious sound
I will render my life and my death,
Yet in dreams, I’m pressing your hand to my mouth,
Holding breath.
1912
* * *
Приближается звук
vip15/05/2021