I’ve spent my nights in silent yearning
For a beautiful love that will not perish
And she who will soon come to me.

In the time of soft plum-blossoms
When the air is full of songbirds singing
And the sky is a delicate caress.

She will come!

With a mist of stars about her
And great beckoning plumes of smoke
Upon her leaping horses.

She will come!

And she will bend suddenly and clasp me; she will clutch me with fierce arms
And stab me with a kiss like a wound
That bleeds slowly.

She will come!

But though she will hurt me at first
In her strong gladness
She will soon soothe me gently
And cast upon me an unbreakable sleep.

Softly forever.

When will she come?

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