«2 I lift the hands that I let fall / So long ago. / Into a black and empty window / Empty hands / I fling into mid-nocturnal striking / Clocks — I want / To go home! — Like this: head first / — From the tower! — Homeward! Not onto the cobbled square: / Into rustle and wh...»
«3 Harder and harder / Start wringing my hands! / Between us not earthly / Versts — but divisive / Celestial rivers, azure nations, / Where my friend is forever already — / Inalienable. The high road races / In silvery harness. / I don’t wring my hands! / I only extend them ...»
«4 Cover the bedstead / In swarthy olive. / The gods are jealous / Toward mortal love. Each rustle to them / Is distinct, each swish. / Know, this young man is dear / Not to you alone. Some one is incensed / With his luscious May-day. / Mind you, be wary / Of sharp-eyed heaven. ...»
«5 Ever so softly / With a hand slim and careful / I loosen the trammels: / Little hands — and obedient / To the neighing, the Amazon rustles / Off on the ringing, empty steps of parting. In the radiant flyway / The winged one tramples / And neighs. — Dawn’s flare in the eyes. ...»