Twelve Years

The linethat remained, thatbecame true: . . . yourhouse in Paris — becomethe alterpiece of your hands.

Breathed through thrice,
shone through thrice.……………….

It's turning dumb, turning deafbehind our eyes.

I see the poison flowerin all manner of words and shapes.

Go.

Come.

Love blots out its name: toyou it ascribes itself.

Tr.

Michael Hamburger