By Luis G. Dato
With stars I tryst, and in the outmost Night,
Time thundering roams the skies,
I fear the alternation of the light,
Love, let me look in your eyes.
A funeral wind is moaning through the trees,
And Man so soon departing from his birth,
Saddens the soul and bids its fever cease,
With grief that lifts its question from the earth.
I confuse Time and Space, as one, and fear
Identity, O Woman, Friend, or Wife,
The boughs of trees seem human, gods disappear,
O, share me this terror of life!
— Philippine Magazine, January 1938