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Jag stod vid dِrrn, jag hade lهnat fracken,
den var fِr lهng, fِr vid, fِr hِg i nacken,
mitt skjortveck, styvt och stنrkt och brynt i tvنtten,
stack prydligt av mot vita halsrosetten,
en knapp var borta, ena klacken sned,
min sjنl i olag, mitt humِr ur led.
I was standing at dِrrn, I had borrowed dress suit,
it was too long, too wide, too high in the neck,
my skjortveck, rigid and stronger and brynt in the laundry,
stack neatly against the white neck Rosetta,
a button was gone, one squad oblique,
my soul in illegally, my mood from the point.
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