Sommerens død, vinterens brød.Det flyr mot høstklare fjerner skyer av blomsterflimmer, ja selv månen er rød. Engenes gullstøv-skimmer forvandles inatt...

Silence of the night, 
a sad, nocturnal silence---
Why does my soul tremble so?
I hear the humming of my blood,
and a soft storm passes through my brain.
Insomnia!
Not to be able to sleep, and yet to dream.
I'm the auto-specimen of spiritual dissection,
the auto-Hamlet!
To dilute my sadness
in the wine of the night
in the marvellous crystal of the dark---
And I ask myself:
When will the dawn come?
Someone has closed a door---
Someone has walked past---
The clock has rung three---
If only it were She!---