In evening as the sun goes down
She twists and dances mindlessly
Life, in her brash effrontery.
But also, when above the town
The night has risen, charming, vast,
Blessing the hungry with its peace,
Obliterating all disgrace,
The Poet tells himself: 'At last!
My spirit, like my backbone, seems
Intent on finding its repose;
The heart so full of mournful dreams,
I'll stretch out on my weary back
And roll up in your curtains, those
Consoling comforters of black!'