A song for guitar struck up in a strange tavern,
The elder-bushes there, a November day long past,
Familiar steps on the twilit stair, the sight of beams turned brown,
An open window where a sweet hope lingered-
All this, O God, is so unutterable that one falls shattered to one’s knees.
O, how dark is this night. A crimson flame
Died in my mouth. In the silence
The line stringed music of the fearful soul dies away.
Stay, when drunk with wine, your head sinks to the gutter.