My Life Is Not This Steeply Sloping Hour

My life is not this steeply sloping hour

in which you see me hurrying.

Much stands behind me;

I stand before it like a tree;

I am only one of my many mouths,

and at that, the one that will be

still the soonest.

I am the rest between two notes,

which are somehow always in discord

because Death's note wants to climb over --

but in the dark interval, reconciled,

they stay there trembling.

And the song goes on, beautiful.