«If the moon on the skies does not roam, / But cools, like a seal above, / My dead husband enters the home / To read the letters of love. He remembers the box, made of oak, / With the lock, very secret and odd, / And spreads through a floor the stroke / Of his feet in the iron bond. He ...»
«And of you, O my first inclination, / I took leave. The East was coming blue. / “I’ll remember,” you artlessly mentioned. / Not at once then I trusted in you. They arise and they vanish — the faces: / Now you’re here, but afar in the morn. / Why of this only one of all pages, / ...»
«I now stride where none need any more, / Where just a shadow is the best of mates. / From the wild garden waves a wind, remote, / And under feet — the coldness of grave’s steps.»
«The garden's music ranged to me / With dole that's beyond expression. / The frozen oysters smelled with freshness / And sharpness of the northern sea. He told me, "I'm the best of friends!", / And gently touched my gown's laces. / Oh, how differs from embraces / The easy touching of the...»