To draw the emotion out of your breast
The lucid truth, the feeling
Becoming, after coming from the heart
A handful of ashes scattered in the wind
To dream a verse of high thought
And pure as a rhythm of prayer
Becoming, after coming from the heart
The dust, the nothingness, the dream of a moment...
They are so hollow, rude, my verses:
Lost rhymes, dispersed gales
With which I deceive others, with which I lie!
I wish I could find the pure verse
The verse proud and strong, strange and hard,
That is to say, crying is what I feel!