But, truly, I have wept too much! The Dawns are heartbreaking. Every moon is atrocious and every sun bitter.

He would say, "How funny it will all seem, all you've gone through, when I'm not here anymore, when you no longer feel my arms around your shoulders, nor my heart beneath you, nor this mouth on your eyes, because I will have to go away some day, far away..." And in that instant I could feel myself with him gone, dizzy with fear, sinking down into the most horrible blackness: into death.

I may die of earthly love, or of devotion.

And from that time on I bathed in the Poem Of the Sea, star-infused and churned into milk, Devouring the green azures; where, entranced in pallid flotsam, A dreaming drowned man sometimes goes down.

Whose hearts must I break? What lies must I maintain? - Through whose blood am I to wade ?

A thousand Dreams within me softly burn: From time to time my heart is like some oak Whose blood runs golden where a branch is torn.

My wisdom is as spurned as chaos. What is my nothingness, compared to the amazement that awaits you?