Stilly leaning up on tower, light breeze blows.
See boundless sorrow of spring
Glooms far from skyline and grows.
Grass veils in mist, the setting sun glows.
My silence by the banister, who would be hearing?
Indulged to a blind drunk I insanely sought
Singing with wine poured
It’s forced joy after all, of dull thought.
I shall never regret, though clothes loosen on me;
I am willing, willing even to wither myself for thee.