The world is mine.Wherever I goI throw roses to everybody.The artist loves every marble ear that hear his words.What does pain and misery mean to me?Everything crashed with a bang:I sing.Such rises the great hymn of pain from a happy […]
Most of the poems in the collection were written within a year – between Summer 1918 and Spring 1919. A few of them were intended to be published with her previous collection ‘The September Lyre’, but were refused inclusion there.
While the topic of this collection is similar to the last, its tone is warmer and less tense.