November 2, 1877 

On the forgotten woods when the dark winter passes

You complain, oh captive hermit of the threshold

That this double grave which will make our pride

Alas! Only the lack of the heavy bouquets burdens itself 

Without listening to Midnight which casts its empty numbers

A day before exalts you not to close your eye

Before that, in the arms of the old easy chair

The supreme torch has lit up my Shadow 

Who often wants to have the Visit has to

For too many flowers load the stone that my finger

Lifts with the boredom of a spent force 

Soul in the home so clear trembling as I sit

To live again I just have to borrow with your lips

The breath of my name murmured for an entire evening

06/08 - 07/08