The paroxysm has passed.
Sadness is in disgrace.
I welcome life like the first dream.
Yesterday in Das Kapital I read
that poets own
their own law.
Now snowstorm
with your devil howl
knock like a naked drowned man -
with my severed head still
am I a cheerful happy comrade.
We do not weep for carrion,
nor would there be need to weep for me
if in this snowy tumult
I could die submissively.
Twit-twit! you tomtits.
Good morning!
Don't be afraid -
I will not harm you.
Perch if you will
on the wattle
according to your bird-law.
A law of revolution obtains -
the relations
between all living things.
If you but share a single meal with man,
you have the right
to sit and lie with him.
Welcome to you,
my poor old maple!
Forgive my insulting you.
Your clothes are tatters
but you shall be dressed anew.
With no invoice, April
doffs her green cap to you,
and silently
enfolds you
in armloads of tender swaddling.
And a girl comes out to you
and feeds you well-water,
so you can fight
with grim October blizzards.
At night
the moon swims out.
The dogs didn't gobble her up -
she was invisible
through the bloody
human brawl.
But the brawl is over.
Look -
with her citrous light
she floods the trees
dressed in new green
with ringing radiance.
Then sing, my breast,
of spring! Rock
with new poems!
Today I will not curse
the cocks on my way
to sleep.
Earth, earth,
you are not steel.
Can steel push up
these shoots ?
Enough to hit
the thread,
- and suddenly I understand
.