By Luis G. Dato
In this state of the mind when the least sound perplexes,
And the faintest light shadow the spirit depresses,
When the pen, hesitating, conjectures and guesses
On the scheme enigmatic of mortals and sexes;
When the twilight with shadow the bosom but vexes,
And the morning with sunlight the temper oppresses,
When society of men a mere boredom expresses,
And the phantom of silence, a war of complexes:
Then I think of the second new life of hereafter,
Which will claim at a call my lone soul from the earth,
Of the day when I cease from all tear-drops and laughter,
When the born things are dead. and the dead given birth.
From my bed of repose I, recalling, would waft her
The one halcyon remembrance of our passionate mirth.