关于你，哦我第一个爱好，
我告别了。东方正现出蓝色。
”我将记住，“你淳朴地提到。
那时我没有立刻相信你
他们出现了，他们又消失了--这些个脸：
现在你在这儿，但在远方的早晨。
为什么这是所有页面中的唯一，
我曾经折了一角很久？
每一次只有这本书打开
在同样的位置，那很奇怪：
因为它是最后一瞬--全都在这儿--
似乎岁月没有从那边缘经过。
他，说过，”心是用石头做的“，
有一个思想：”火就是基本材料“...
我永远识别不出：你就是我自己
或只是我唯一的爱。
And of you, O my first inclination,
I took leave. The East was coming blue.
“I’ll remember,” you artlessly mentioned.
Not at once then I trusted in you.
They arise and they vanish – the faces:
Now you’re here, but afar in the morn.
Why of this only one of all pages,
Had I once bent a corner for long?
Every time this book opens mere
In the same place, and it’s very strange:
As it was a last trice – all is here –
As if years had not passed from that edge.
He, who said, “Heart is made of a stone”,
Had a thought: “Just a flame is the stuff” …
I will never discern: you’re my own
Or was only with me in a love.
