I want to ask the looking glass
With dusty, mistful dreams,
Which road - which country shall You pass,
And where Your shelter gleams.
Here, I behold: the ship's tall mast,
And You - on deck alone...
You - in the train's steam... Fields at dusk
Are gloomy and forlorn...
The dusky meadows bathe in dew,
Above - the ravens soar...
To the four winds I scatter You
And bless Your soul!
May 3, 1915
We are spending more time apart than together
Playing silent games…
Are we lovers or ghosts, lighter than feathers,
Leaving nebulous stains?
Let my longing be nectar to your amorous venom,
Which leads me astray -
Our memories echo a murderous raven
Looking for prey.
Tenderness has become a torturous weapon
In your loving hands,
And I swallow my words like the earth swallows Heaven
Each time it rains…