Death comes to me in dreams:
The dead float like dandelions:
Shimmery and wistful it all seems,
While sleep binds me in irons.

The dark haunts me with forgotten smiles;
It whispers the future in my ear;
And all the past vainly beguiles,
For within it, there isn’t a single tear.

New dreams are dreadful and bright!
I can remember not even one!
In vain, I try to make love to night,
Under the eye of an unforgiving sun.