Does it not seem to you at times, whenTwilight walks through the house , thatRight here alongside us is another element,In which we live quite differently?("A Candle Is Brought In")

I was washing outside in the darkness,the sky burning with rough stars,and the starlight, salt on an axe-blade.The cold overflows the barrel.The gate's locked,the land's grim as its conscience.I don't think they'll find the new weaving,finer than truth, anywhere.Star-salt is melting in the barrel,icy water is blackening,death's growing purer, misfortune saltier,the earth's moving nearer to truth and to dread.

The game may have ended and the tomb have glided away,But the impressions on the heart are growing brighter;Oh, how I understood you: both the warmth's insinuation andThe splendor of flowerbeds where decay is showing through...("August")

There can be such a sky, and suchA play of rays, that our heart feelsAn insult to a doll is morePiteous than an insult to oneself.("It Happened at Vallen-Koski")