I can always go back to a part of me that serves for shelter
and stay there, snug as a nut in its shell,
without either happiness or unhappiness.
I go, lonely as a rock that stands
naked and only in a field where the grass plays.
I go, lonely as an orchid in a wood,
and my steps, which none entrammels
sound pleasant to my ears.
I am a black cavern, and in it a candle-light
that throws grotesque shadows on the walls.
I am a closed room where
faint lugubrious steps are heard.
I go, lonely as a knight who has forgotten
his damosel.
I wield kindness arrogantly,
and arrogance kindly.
I am so simply vain that a letter
with my address on it
pleases me.
I am so simply egotistical that
when someone was dying at the hospital
I thought of the discomfort his death was bringing me
and was furious thereat.
I am so fiercely egotistical
that when a friend of mine was dying
I thought right away of the five lire I owed him
which I hadn’t to pay anymore.