THE STREAM

Remember?… The stream was the kind serpent…
It flowed sadly and sadly like the cry of a blind man,
When in the gray stones where sorrow is rooted,
Like an immense lily, there arose your prayer.

My heart, the grayest and most serene stone,
Awoke in the caress of the stream, and then
It felt like the evening, with hands of a Mohammedan
There hung from it a rose of fire.

And while the serpent of the stream brandished
The divine poison of melancholy,
Touched by the sunset your head overwhelmed me,

I crowned it with a fatal kiss; in the current
I saw a corpse of fire passing by… And madly
In your deep embrace, sorrow cast me to the ground.