the city of the Hague was swelling

was confined

ruin and shame

able to smile in pain

at the same time crushing

rit run

his poor tulip

‘I have killed fifty black cocks’

neither more nor less

creaking on its axles

no joy remains in this world

neither more nor less

quite black

‘be forbearing’

see once and no more

with impatience

in one word, Rosa

push her forward

a moment of popular error

new clouds gathering there

watching the obnoxious moths and butterflies