Translation:Ostrich

Melancholy, remove your sweet beak already; don’t gorge your hunger in my wheat fields of light. Melancholy, it’s enough! As your daggers drink the blood my blue leech would drain!

Don’t finish all the fallen woman’s manna; I wish that tomorrow some cross may arise from it, on that tomorrow on which I may not have someone to turn my eyes towards, when the coffin opens its great mocking O.

My heart is a flowerpot watered by grief; there are other old birds that graze within it... Melancholy, stop withering my life, and reveal your woman’s lip...!