And will he never return to life again? Never return
On star-filled trembling nights, or in the pure light
Of virgin mornings, or in sacrificed afternoons?
Never return at the edge of a path with a fence
That encloses a field, or beside some
White shimmering fountain beneath the moon?
Never return to the tangled curls of the forest
Where, calling his name, the night unfolded over me?
Nor in the caves that echoed back my cry?
Oh, no! To see him again, I would run wherever he might be found—
Through the narrow paths of the sky or in the dizzying whirl,
Beside quiet moons or in a terror of blackness!
And we would be together in every spring season
And every winter, knotted in one anguished knot
Around his neck, soaked in blood!
