I
Life goes by moving,
Up and down a chain of moods
Wanting what’s nothing.

II
My soul is the wind
Dashing down fields of Autumn:
O, too swift to sing.

III
I shall spend my moods
Like a rose discards leaves
And die without moods.

IV
My ears burn for speech
And you lie cold and silent.
Supinely cruel:

V
Look at the white moon
The sphinx does not question more.
Turn away your eyes.

VI
The poetry of life?
NO, the picture of my dreams
Flashing on my heart.