From the poetry collection The Colonist's Visions (1915).
From the deepest depths I have fought my way here,
See, I came from the place of misery,
and what do you know that my head is white
when such a hike I made?
And what do you wonder that it trembles my voice?
It was different in the year of songs.
I have lived anyway, be this my consolation
when to forget I finally go.
It will stop stumbling, my stiffened foot,
and my heart will stop beating. -
On my grave the flowers of the wilderness will take root
as the days come and go.
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