Here they are, sad, full of passion
Or love without borders
writing… She wrote them without any happiness… –
Tears dripped from eyelashes…
And trembling in the pages of the forgotten,
These sheets faded
silent tears, - without happiness spilled, –
Mountain I saw in the eyes of…
Here they are, sad, full of passion, –
Days gone through print.
What am I to former? glimpses of happiness,
An echo of the lost unknown power?
Did I become silent?
1 November 1899
