It will burn you at the start,
As if to breezes you were bare,
Then drop deep into your heart
Like a single salty tear.
And a heart full of spite
Will come to know regret,
And this sorrow, although light,
It will not forget,
Others will reap. I only sow.
Of course! When the triumphant
scythers lays the grain low,
Bless them, O Lord!
And so that I may lift
My eyes in thanks to You above,
Let me give the world a gift
More incorruptible than love
[1916]

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