Chapter XXV

Clasped about my neck and harbouring my breast,
Ah your so dear hands now and their slow caress,
When I tell you, in the evening, how my strength
Grows leaden day by day with weight of feebleness!

You wish it not that 1 become shadow and ruin
Like all those who obey the gloomy night's behests,
Though it be with laurel in their mournful hands
And glory sleeping in their hollow breasts.

Ah how time's harsh law is softened by your love
And how your lovely dream disconsolate tears would stem;
For the first and only time you nurse with lies
My heart that finds excuse and gives you thanks for them.

Which, however, knows all ardour is in vain
Against what is and all that must be in the strife,
And that perhaps there is profounder happiness
To end thus in your eyes my lovely human life.