THE HOUR

Take me now though it’s early
I bring fresh dahlias in my hands.

Take me now though it’s somber
and silent is my head.

Now that my body smells sweet
and the eyes are clean and like a rose is my skin.

Now that I have on my soles
the living sandals of the spring.

Now on my lips the laughter rings
like a bell rings in a hurry.

Later...Ah! I know
nothing much of it will remain later!

Useless will be then your desire
like an offering placed in a mausoleum.

Take me now though it’s early,
my hands with nard are richly creamed.

Today, but not much late. Before the night falls,
and the fresh corolla withers off.

Today, and not tomorrow. Oh Lover! Don’t you see
that a creeper grows into a cypress?