You are for me a precious, cherished gift
so unexpected, full of sweet surprise.
I search for you again and often drift
to dream, for my delight I can’t disguise.
In Paris at corner gates
Cherries grow inside their crates;
While the grapes, to knock your socks
We should be born old,
We should arrive wise,
Be capable of deciding our fate in this world,
To know, from that primordial crossroad, what roads are commencing
A wayward stray, with eyes a-mist,
My body wasted on this way,
I helplessly now fall, my master
And ‘fore your radiance now lay.
This simple, undisguised, occurrence,
Too late, some day, we might remember,
The garden bench on which we rested,
Our temples touching, crimson ember.
I do not crush the crown of this world’s wonders,
and do not kill
with my mind the mysteries which I encounter
on my way
Our language is a treasure
From the deep, ascending grand
A string of gems beyond all measure
Overflowing on our land.
I was walking on the road. There was moonlight, kind autumn.
And it catches up with me and passes me by
A circle.
A big round thing made of iron.
If you would sleep my darling, on railway tracks one morning
the blushing trains would whisper on tiptoes while you’re still
huge bales of cotton-candy the sky will be adorning
we’d all be drunk with dew milk and dancing a quadrille
It’s time for roses now to die.
They die in gardens, die in me –
So full of life they were, you see,
But now they go without a sigh.