Fever Poem

Fever Poem VII   by  Knut Hamsun

 

Now howls the autumnal wind

like a rain soaked dog against my

window,

Within my blood there stirs a frost

colder than the winds outside.

It unfolds within me

And reeks of poisonous blossoms.

The odour seeps out into the weather

from my nostrils.

It blooms in the garden of Hate.

It boils, it boils. I try

to no avail to fall into slumber,

I hear the flag line eternally

chattering and chattering against the

pole,

It staggers by doors, sneaks

on its toes, steps along the passage,

My pulse beating in barks

like a baying hellhound.

It boils, it boils, it boils.

 


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