Late, day is make , soon the night is done
In short chamber,of solitary street
More papers in corners, and the bed to the wall
And the besides a bed,on table, papers spread
And in eternal darkness, a tiny lamp
Only, they show a range, did you think he is afraid …
And yet, nights on end, she burns with faith
And her horizon, feeds a sweet pain
In watches sad, as difficult  lonely
When only the wind, crying in the streets on …
But sometimes lamp, tired with vigil
He slowly flashing light, which disappears
And shadows grow and play on the walls and floor …
Startled, then the dreamer, looking at other
Sighing, closes the book, or leave the manuscript
As in the litter, to imagine, on the dark his dream.