When for the dead a noise-filled day subsides,
Upon the lonesome city squares;
The night's translucent shadow glares,
And sleep, reward of daily work, abides;
For me these hours drag out, a silent drill,
(Oppressive wakefulness, each one);
In idle night shall burn the sun
Of my heart's viper gnawing at my will.
Dreams seethe; whereas my mind with yearning knolls,
As thick, unneeded thoughts escape;
Remembrance wordlessly so waits
Before me, to unfurl its lengthy scroll.
And with repulsion shall I read my life,
Shake, swear, and bitterly complain;
And spill most bitter tears in vain;
But these, these saddest lines I shall not strike.