XVI

From dawn till morning, from afternoon till dusk,
from the spurious nightfall to the complete shadow,
something of our heart, in fatal losses.
—which take away the best of ourselves— falls step by step.

We die in a repeated failure.
We drink too much of the ardent hanaycombs,
we drain happiness, and even evil
diminishes, and one day the glass is empty.

Let us have more strength for wishes and dreams
and for pain , for filling life
and for high flights, for the tenacious.

eagerness and the desire of never being tired...
Oh, let's pray not to die like this, from this wound,
fine and slow, which neither cuts us off nor ever closes.