It would be good to reminisce br of all that's lost from childhood afternoons, br can they return to me, I miss br those endless hours that are now in ruins. br br It does return now, gently, still br perhaps in all the drops of a warm rain br yet we've forgotten what it will br remind us now of riches and no bane br of seeing and just living without care br like creatures yet as humans with no fear br and filled up to the locks of children's hair br a figure of a Thing, it would appear. br br The shepherd's loneliness then, in the end br weighed down with endless distances today br and called as if ordained, touched by a friend br a lengthy thread of images, astray br in which it is no use simply to dwell br there is no memory for us to know br and to a stranger, childhood thoughts will tell br of afternoons, where life itself was slow. br br br Written 1906 in Paris br br My version of a translation.