Little Poem
This night and morning too,
I write little poems to you,
like the cold and kindred-scorn,
A certain pain in me is born,
as if a certain thought,
as if a moment caught,
brings back things like lies,
dark things, like your eyes.
This night and morning too,
I write little poems to you,
like the cold and kindred-scorn,
A certain pain in me is born,
as if a certain thought,
as if a moment caught,
brings back things like lies,
dark things, like your eyes.