Under the noise and the sound of monotonous,
Under the city bustle
I'm leaving, an idle soul,
The snowstorm, into darkness and the void.
I cut the thread of consciousness
And I remember, what and how…
Circle - Snow, trams, building,
And ahead - the lights and the darkness.
What, if I, spellbound,
Dangling thread of consciousness,
I return home humiliated, –
You are able to forgive?
You, knowing distant goal
Guiding beacon,
Do I forgive my snowstorm,
My delirium, poetry and gloom?
Or you can better: not forgiving,
Wake my bell,
To thaw overnight
From home is not stole?
2 February 1909
