I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.
The pain others give passes away in their later kindness, but that of our own blunders, especially when they hurt our vanity, never passes away
Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.
I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.
What's memory but the ash That chokes our fires that have begun to sink?
Consume my heart away, sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is, and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.