在你怀中仍有欢乐，静如夜间的街道;对你的思念，我记得清清楚楚，就像黑暗房间里的绿叶，就像没有月亮的天空里的乌云。爱，在你心里，悄然而过，深邃，遥远，稀有，像鸟儿在广阔的空中飞翔，又像鸟儿一样，在你脸上的天堂里没有留下一丝痕迹。在你的愚蠢中，我找到了甜蜜的寂静，在甜蜜的声音之后。你的周围是一束光，照亮灰暗的夜尾;渴望是未升起的太阳，喜悦是尚未开始的一天，树对树低语，没有风，静静地。智慧睡在你的发间，坚忍在那里，柔情在你飘逸的衣襟里。当你思考的时候，在我看来，无边无际，像一片大海，围绕着你所熟悉的这个渺小的世界，你浩瀚的无意识被抛向. . . .啊，没有波浪和潮汐的港湾!寂静，所有的歌声都在寂静中死去! Holy book, where hearts are still! And home at length under the hill! O mother quiet, breasts of peace, Where love itself would faint and cease! O infinite deep I never knew, I would come back, come back to you, Find you, as a pool unstirred, Kneel down by you, and never a word, Lay my head, and nothing said, In your hands, ungarlanded; And a long watch you would keep; And I should sleep, and I should sleep! Mataiea, January 1914