There is a morning demon. Smoky-haired is he,
And gold-curly, happy in his mind.
As a sky, a blue coloured flowing chiton.
He is all - the play of a pearl light.
But as the azure have wind of the dark night,
So that face looks like a horror,
And the gold of curls - turns red-scarlet,
And voice - is like a roar of the forgotten storms.
24 March 1914