Where had her sweetness gone？

    What fanatics invent

    In this blind bitter town，

    Fantasy or incident

    Not worth thinking of，

    Put her in a rage.

    I had forgiven enough

    That had forgiven old age.

    All lives that has lived；

    So much is certain；

    Old sages were not deceived：

    Somewhere beyond the curtain

    Of distorting days

    Lives that lonely thing

    That shone before these eyes

    Targeted， trod like Spring.