LXXXII WAITING
Mitchell S. (Mitchell Starrett) Buck translation
THE sun has passed all the night among the dead while I have waited, seated upon my bed, weary from watching. The wick of the exhausted lamp has burned to the end.
She will never return: there is the last star. I know well that she will never return. I know even the name that I hate. Nevertheless, I still wait.
That she would come now! yes, that she would come, her hair disordered and without roses, her robe soiled, spotted, rumpled, her tongue dry and her eyelids black!
When she opened the door, I would say to her.... But here she is.... It is her robe that I touch, her hands, her hair, her skin! I kiss her with distracted lips, and I weep.