Rain in the Town

The day’s last sun had bound down
The loaded clouds over the town
With hoops of gold and yellow fire,
When suddenly the huge clouds burst
Into waves of livid mire;
— And down comes the rain,
Beating again and again
Along the whole length of the evening.
Like a purple mountain stream
It mutters
In the leaden spouts and gutters.
Endlessly falling, falling
Into the dead heart of the evening.

Drop after drop the rain
Licks and wipes my windowpane;
And I am alone in the room — a gray room like a cell . . .
Drop after drop the rain
Licks and wipes my windowpane;
And I am alone in the room
With a sunflower still in yellow bloom;
— Not a trace
Of a sun’s gold face
To take my offering of myself and to devour
The heavy, tired tones of the grief-stricken flower.

Only the miserable rain
Beating again and again
Along the whole length of the evening . . .
The sullen clouds are hushed;
And silence fills my room;
There is no one here in the gloom
With a spark of compassion
Who will accept my gift,
The yellow sunflower of my passion.

Translated by Dorian Cooke.