Then I thought:
she has gone away; she is hurt;
she does not know
what poison has been working in me.
Then I thought:
upstairs, her child is sleeping;
and I felt the presence
of the fields we had walked over, the roads we had followed,
the flowers we had watched together,
before it came.
She had touched my hair, and only then did I feel it;
And I loved her once again.
And I came away,
full of the sweet and bitter juices of life;
and I lit the lamp in my room,
and made this poem.
TERROR
Eyes are tired;
the lamp burns,
and in its circle of light
papers and books lie
where chance and life
have placed them.
Silence sings all around me;
my head is bound with a band;
outside in the street a few footsteps;
a clock strikes the hour.
I gaze, and my eyes close,
slowly:
I doze; but the moment before sleep,
a voice calls my name
in my ear,
and the shock jolts my heart:
but when I open my eyes,
and look, first left, and then right ...
no one is there.