Translation:The Black Heralds (1918)/Naked in Mud
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Like horrible frogs to the atmosphere,
dark faces rise to the lips.
On the blue Sahara of Substance
walks a gray verse, a dromedary.
A grimace of cruel dreams phosphoresces.
And the blind man who died full of snowy
voices. And to wake up, poet, nomad,
to the harsh day of being a man.
The Hours feverishly go on, and blond centuries
of joy are cut short in the recesses.
Who pulls the thread so much: who
without piety lowers our nerves,
threadbare strings, to the grave!
Love! And you too. Black stonings
are engendered in your mask and break it.
The grave is still
a woman’s sex that attracts man!