Daydreams have endlessly turning
paths going over the bitter
earth, winding roads,
parks flowering, in darkness and in silence;
deep vaults, ladders against the stars;
scenes of hopes and memories.
Tiny figures that walk past and smile
—sad playthings for an old man—;
friends we think we can see
at the flowery turn in the road
and imaginary creatures
that show us roads... far off...
Translator: Robert Bly
Incluido en www.yale.edu