I could shine brighter,
Leaving a trail on the blue moisture.
But quietly, a dark ravine
Already flowing grace.
And I will be faithful to all the hopes.
I accept friends, when fall.
Let a quiet sleep in my clothes
They, hackneyed, cling.
But this does not make a Muse
swords, pierce the enemy:
She scythe mows peaceful
Sleepy head flower.
15 September 1903
