[BNP/E3, 49A4 – 82]

8

m ✓

His head was bowed into his arms, and they

On the low couch, foreign to his sense, lay.

His closed eyes seemed open to him and seeing

The naked floor, dark, cold, sad and unmeaning.

His hurting breath was all his sense could know.

Out of the falling darkness the wind rose

And fell. A voice swooned in the courts below.

And the Emperor slept… 

                       The gods came now

And bore something away, no sense knows how,

On unseen arms of Power and Repose.

Lisbon, 1915.

[82v]

{…}

__________

6-1-1890

5 p. m.

✓ Song