________
Nightfall
Now while I sit here in this dark chamber
By firelight, a lost traveler returned
From a distant country, and half unlearned
In his own tongue—I must risk the danger
Of remembrance. Pensive, I would linger
Over old books, yellowing pages burned
By unquenchable years, that I once yearned
To know: the verse of forgotten singers.
First almost nothing remains—a fragrance
Of blossoming trees, a single footstep
On the cobbled stones beneath my window.
Yet every line reverberates. A dance,
Perhaps, in the way the music has kept
To an old balance, among these shadows.
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