***
In the Evening
The music rang out in the garden
With such inexpressible grief.
Oysters in ice on the plate
Smelled fresh and sharp, of the sea.
He told me: 'I am your true friend!'
And he touched my dress.
How unlike a caress,
The touch of those hands.
As one might stroke a cat or bird,
Or watch slender equestriennes ride . . .
Under the light gold lashes
There is only laughter in his tranquil eyes.
And the voices of mournful violins
Sing through the drifting smoke:
'Praise heaven above--for the first time
You're alone with the man you love.'
Translated by Judith Hemschemeyer.
1912-1914 , . , , " ...", , . 
