Girl dancing: all that was spent
You move to life - miraculous offering;
With a whirl at the close, like a tree made of movement,
Sweeping up in itself the seasons' full swing.
Did the tree-top your swirling turned around already
Seem, of a sudden, to blossom with stillness? Above
Was there not sunshine, not summer? - the steady
Radiance of your warmth like love.
But it bore, it bore too, your ecstasy-tree
These are its tranquil fruits, are they not? - the pitcher
Turned in the hand, a vase stroked to maturity.
Glance now, a dark eyebrow's stroke discerning
In what you left us - a blurred picture
Flashed on the wall of your own turning.