The handsome suicide fled victoriously

Firebrand of glory, blood by foam, gold, storm!

O laugh if over there crimson gets ready

To but welcome on high like my empty grave

What!  Of all this brightness not even the fragment

Lingers, it’s midnight, in the shadow which celebrates us,

Except that a presumptuous treasure by heart

Pours its cherished nonchalance without a torch

Yours as always the delight!  Yours

Yes only from the fainted sky retains

Little of childish triumph by donning you

With clarity when you put her on the pillows

Like a warrior’s helmet of an empress child

Of whom to represent you would fall from roses

03/26/08