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Unsatiated passions want to be satiated,
Arms wish to be tired,
Lips look for merging,
Fingers long for cracking,
Green fires in the eyes are greening greener,
Like eyes of wolves in frozen fields,
G…
And if Moyshe-Leyb, the poet, tells
That he saw Death on the high waves—
Just as he sees himself in a mirror,
And it was in the morning, around ten—
Will they believe Moyshe-Leyb?
And if Moyshe…
Oh white spirit—
My princess!
The spring rips,
Tears at your dress.
The air is full of spring’s fame
Crowned with florets
Carrying its perfume
Spring’s fresh scents.
Bringing your death,
My white…