Alone.

There, the shores of lonely remembrance see as to I have brought On the stirring abandoned rivers that are breathless through the shriveled drops of blood, And it is glinted from the wounding sun upon my pale skin that flutters upon the shallow surf, And I, oh, I will be beside the sunsets and shadows that waned through the pretty moans, Gemmed with tears that will roll as the grappling sea that lays with a reflection of rattled and splintering waves that will curl upon the quiet stones;

Mes mots dans ce rêve.

The likeness of snow-covered heaps on desert-searing nights Of a scathing wind that cursed a name and brought it By the crook of a deserted nest sunbathed by bare hands, Seducing a whistle to the primeval waters that shoehorn rocks Reflected with an awakening flutter within a cold room With lip of ice and loitering hill sides by a pale tide, blistering with mercy;