This Cruel Age has deflected me.

Now no one will listen to songs. The prophesied days have begun. Latest poem of mine, the world has lost its wonder, Don't break my heart, don't ring out.

Song falls silent, music is dumb, But the air burns with their fragrance, And white winter, on its knees, Observes everything with reverent attention.

The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones; unspoken phrases, silent words.

Poems are my link with the times, with the new life of my people.

A choir of angels glorified the hour, the vault of heaven was dissolved in fire. "Father, why hast Thou forsaken me? Mother, I beg you, do not weep for me.

I go forth to seek To seek and claim the lovely magic garden Where grasses softly sigh and Muses speak.