«In corridors dead-locked and halls like the deserts / Hilarious masks today gathered together, / With flowers the chambers entwined and the closets / Wild dances have stormed like the autumnal weather. The Moons with the dragons have wandered embracing, / The vases Chinese trashed about bet...»
«Only one thing torments my delirium: / how certain sharp lines go on for ever, / and a bell rings and rings and rings / like a clock marking off eternity. Just so, after death, / eyes stare into darkness / (the agonized hope of resurrection) / trying to see familiar visions. But there ...»
«In my delirium, only the endlessness / Of some sharp lines plagues me, / And the bell incessantly tolls / As a clock, striking eternity. It seems to me, that after death it’s how, / With an agonising hope of resurrection, / The eyes get fixed on the surrounding murk, / Seeking the old...»
«Birth of the word is by agony molded, / Through earthly life it is quietly going, / It is a stranger, which drinks from the golden / Pitcher the drops of the savages’ mourning. Go to Nature! The Nature is hostile, / All here is frightening, all is in fullness, / There are the trumpets...»