The Birth of Love
The bird – a red breast – taught to love the living.
Then, fully grey, he’d lived in Paradise.
He was a-sitting on a cliff – the wise.
And all his world was only laugh and trifling
And he was thinking, this wise pygmy, winging,
“What’s all about? What singing am I?
I needn’t to love all – but the dear mine.”
And on his breast the scarlet came a-winning.
The little bird flew o’er a grayish plant.
In the first time, the scarlet touched carnations,
Roses and poppies – sea of scarlet light!
And blood with love streamed into every heart,
And dazzling lightnings, high skies’ decorations,
Send thunderstorms and rains in ceaseless flight