Classic Poem

So, to begin with, ghosts of rain arise
And blow their muffled horns along the street ...
Who is it wavers through this nebulous curtain,
Floating on watery feet?

Wind melts the walls. A heavy ray of starlight,
Weighed down with languor, falls. Black trumpets cry.
The dancers watch a murder. Cool stars twinkle.
In a broken glass, three faded violets die.

And so, says Steinlin, the dust dissolves,
Plots a new curve, strikes out tangentially,
Builds its discordant music in faint rhythms
Under a softly crashing sea.

" I am the one, " he cries, " who stumbles in twilight,
I am the one who tracks the anfractuous gleam " ...
The futile lamps go out. The night is a storm of silence. ...
What do we wait for? Is it all a dream?