The girl, when she was still with us, used to see angels.

But there are no angels!

Who sees angels!

Oh, wax doll!

The priest nodded his head,

the small black dog barked, barked,

the woman in mourning wailed,

and a grave gentleman wept into his palms

when he looked at the wax doll,

he crushed his head in his palms

when he looked at the wax doll.

White, white, then.

I do not believe in angels.

Nor you?

Nor you?

The girl when she was still with us used to see angels.

from Elegies for Wee Beings, 1931