CXXXI MELANCHOLY
Mitchell S. (Mitchell Starrett) Buck translation
I SHIVER; the night is cool, and the forest all wet. Why hast thou led me here? is my great bed not softer than this moss strewn with stones?
My flowery robe will be spotted with verdure; my hair will be tangled with twigs; my neck; look at my neck, already soiled with the damp earth.
Formerly, I followed into the woods he who.... Ah! leave me for a time. I am sad, this evening. Leave me, without speaking, my hand over my eyes.
In truth, canst thou not wait! are we beasts to take each other so! Leave me. Thou shalt not open my knees nor my lips. Even my eyes shall stay closed, lest they weep.