Sweet to me was not the voice of man, But the wind's voice was understood by me. The burdocks and the nettles fed my soul, But I loved the silver willow best of all.
All as before: against the dining-room windows Beats the scattered windswept snow, And I have not changed either, But a man came to me. I asked: What do you want? He replied: To be with you in Hell. I laughed: Oh, you'll foredoom Us both to disaster.
Let the gossip roll! What to me are Hamlet's garters, or the whirlwind of Salome's dance, or the tread of the Man in the Iron Mask? I am more iron than they.