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What is this sound of tumult that I hear—
Roaring of the sea, not burbling of the brook
Like the roar of a lion or a tiger?
I am in great danger and do not know
If my time approaches when I must…
The rain cleaned off the steep facade of houses;
I write upon the white and stony sheet
And feel how my tired hand so softly rouses
From love poems that always, sweetly, were a cheat.
I wake in the…
The dreadful angel in me is invisible
today, his screeching almost still.
You startle at its whisper. Is it
someone come to pay a visit
or a grasshopper tapping at the sill?
It’s he. Oh, he is…