The poem
My work, I'm very careful about it, and I love it. But today I'm discouraged by how slowly it's going. The day has affected my mood. It gets darker and darker. Endless wind and rain. I'm more in the mood for looking than for writing. In this picture, I'm now gazing at a handsome boy who is lying down close to a spring, exhausted from running. What a handsome boy; what a heavenly noon has caught him up in sleep. I sit and gaze like this for a long time, recovering through art from the effort of creating it.
trans. by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard