When I die, I want you to lay your hand upon my eye:
I want the light of the stone of your beloved hands,
so that once more their coolness may caress me,
so that I may feel that pleasure fate destined for me.
I want you to live until you find me thus asleep;
I want your ears to hear the wind again,
to sense the fragrance of the sea we so loved,
to walk upon the sand where we once walked.
I want the one I love to be alive—
and you I loved and sang with all things;
so go on blooming, my blossoming one,
so you may achieve all that my love desires for you,
so my shadow may roam upon your skin and hair,
so that in this way we may discover the cause of my song.
