V. THE DREAM

Harlequin comes to me, smiling,

Through the white-shining birch trees

Of the twilight wood.

He has forgiven

My cowardice and hesitations,

Soon I shall sink into his arms

With all the imagined fervour...

Of a thousand dreams.

Why does he come so slowly?

There is no longer anything

To mar our meeting...

This must be real

For Harlequin is still clowning,

He waves his arms grotesquely

To make me smile....

Quick, into his arms

With unspent fervour.

Why are the trees all sighing?

Look, whispering birches, if you will,

I and my love embrace!

They do not look,

They do not seem to care...

Embrace me, my beloved!

( Can these by passionate kisses?

They feel so thin and cool

Like mist. )

The birches shiver

As though the night-wind stirred them.

Can we be dead?