Buried, bury deeply,
Poor grass mound porastet,
And we hear: long away, high,
On the ground somewhere rain is.
About anything since we are not in great demand,
Awaken from sleep lazy.
we know: if not loud - there fall,
If violently - it means spring.
Good, that somnolent sounds
Do not take delight and longing,
That from the torments of love and separation
Upasla grave.
No need to rush, cosily;
Here, perhaps, we contrived,
What a life of dissipation and Putnam
It went without saying people's minds.
18 October 1915
