Oh! how gentle are your hands and their slow
caress winding about my neck and gliding over my
body, when I tell you at the fall of evening how
my strength grows heavy day by day with the lead
of my weakness!
You do not wish me to become a shadow and a wreck
like those who go towards the darkness, even
though they carry a laurel in their mournful
hands and fame sleeping in their hollow chest.
Oh! how you soften the law of time for me, and
how comforting and generous to me is your dream;
for the first time, with an untruth you lull my
heart, that forgives you and thanks you for it,
Well knowing, nevertheless, that all ardour is
vain against all that is and all that must be,
and that, by finishing in your eyes my fine human
life, may perhaps be found a deep happiness.