The old calendar… I can't even remember from when! Still hangs on the wall; its work is done, yet no leave granted... unmoved.
The dates died long ago! Yet time lives on— how radiant…ah, ah, what pull it still holds on the heart!
The moon climbs the mountain's flank… so tender, that pale body of hers; on both sides, thick darkness. What other magic…what enchantment!
Slowly, slowly the calendar has crossed eighteen years, yet does it grow old? Each time I look up, from the dark mountain light blazes sudden… who kindles it?
On the bodies of dates all those circular marks… she had drawn them; would draw— if only she were still in this room!