The paroxysm has passed. Sadness is in disgrace. I welcome life like the first dream. Yesterday in Das Kapital I read that poets own their own law. Now snowstorm with your devil howl knock like a naked drowned man - with my severed head still am I a cheerful happy comrade. We do not weep for carrion, nor would there be need to weep for me if in this snowy tumult I could die submissively. Twit-twit! you tomtits. Good morning! Don't be afraid - I will not harm you. Perch if you will on the wattle according to your bird-law. A law of revolution obtains - the relations between all living things. If you but share a single meal with man, you have the right to sit and lie with him. Welcome to you, my poor old maple! Forgive my insulting you. Your clothes are tatters but you shall be dressed anew. With no invoice, April doffs her green cap to you, and silently enfolds you in armloads of tender swaddling. And a girl comes out to you and feeds you well-water, so you can fight with grim October blizzards. At night the moon swims out. The dogs didn't gobble her up - she was invisible through the bloody human brawl. But the brawl is over. Look - with her citrous light she floods the trees dressed in new green with ringing radiance. Then sing, my breast, of spring! Rock with new poems! Today I will not curse the cocks on my way to sleep. Earth, earth, you are not steel. Can steel push up these shoots ? Enough to hit the thread, - and suddenly I understand Das Kapital.