The sun may set upon my wearied face
For as long as it exists, this matter
Remains and nothing can ever erase
The taste of love; no, nothing can shatter
The lonely memory of that embrace:
The strange stars of love within me scatter;
So long as stars remain to trace her name
I cannot forget — yet never know the same.


While I am sad, my sweet, may you be strong
Or else forgive your brother for your pains.
The sun long passed noon, night will not be long,
And soon the day must forsake the worn reigns
To audience the nightingale’s nightsong
Until the echoed song alone remains;
And then in that spiralling melody
Another might hear of your memory.


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