Passing me by, as you walk
To charms doubtful and not mine—
If you but knew how much fire,
How much life is wasted in vain,
On the rustling, occasional shade
What a heroic flame—
And how enflamed my heart
This gunpowder wasted in vain!
O the trains flying into the night,
Carrying sleep on the station away …
If you recognized—if you but knew—
Then and there, I know, anyway.
Why are my words so sharp
In eternal smoke of my cigarette—
How much dark and menacing angst
Is there in my light-haired head.