I would like to write
a cheerful poem,
of those that exclaim for joy,
that fill life,
preaching for faith.

But in this bewildered heart,
my life,
autumn beats,
which everything sweeps,
everything fuses,
everything accuses.

And I cannot proclaim happiness,
although it floods me,
even if it doesn’t bewilder me,
although it all gives me.

But I can only show you,
these sad verses,
from who yearns, who does not reach,
from who is hurt  but does not impeach.