The stillness of the deceased loves the old garden,
The madwoman who dwelled in blue rooms,
In the evening the still shape appears in the window
She, however, closes the yellowed curtain -
...
With rosy stages the stone sinks in the moor
Song of gliding and black laughter
Figures go in and out of rooms
And death grins bony in black boat.
...
A carpet, into which the suffering landscape pales
Perhaps the Sea of Galilee, a boat in the gale
Golden things fall out of storm clouds
Insanity, that seizes the gentle human.
...
Rosy mirror: an ugly image
That appears in the black background,
Blood weeps from broken eyes
Blaspheming plays with dead snakes.
...
The song of the spring rain is dark in the night,
Under the clouds the showers of rosy pear blossoms
Trickery of the heart, chant and insanity of the night.
Fiery angels who step from deceased eyes.
...
A faun-cry romps through sparks,
In the parks cascades of light foam,
Metallic vapors around steel arcades
Of the city which rolls around the sun.
...
Red spheres often emerge from branches,
Snowed under softly and black by a long snowfall.
The priest escorts the dead person.
The nights are fulfilled by celebrations of masks.
...
The house is empty. Fall in the room.
The moon’s lone glow
and a birth at the edge of the dawning woods.
Forever your thoughts turn to the ashen face of your people,
...
September evening. The somber calls of the herdsmen float
across the dimming village. Molten metal sparks in the blacksmith’s.
A massive horse rears darkly back. To the fervor of its blazing nostrils
the hyacinth curls of the servant girl cling.
...