I love to dream amid the dusk of twilight,
When the world puts on the night's black raiment,
And a bright star looks in my little casement -
O how I love the scenes that moment highlights.
A swarm of visions on my soul close weighs then,
Showing my fate, far blacker than the twilight,
Though heart is armoured 'gainst feeling's least traces,
Often a fleeting tear will cloud my eyesight.
I sit and dream and wait - but why this waiting?
Myself I have no answer to that question?
Perhaps until some better turn of fate, then?
Some day must bring me fortune in the offing,
And pain and grief will cease their long oppression?
Or only in the grave, the cold, black coffin?
1906