My love for you has come not like a thief,
But like a king for which the doors have opened wide;
It didn’t slunk by night from deep nesses of dream,
Only has sprung from great azure’s highest light.
Just now, I am finding out imposing halls
Laying waste inside me with shutters of jail,
Waiting for you, my young sun, to replenish
The depth, wide like the world, with rays of pain...
Because there’s no happiness, more grave than the sweetish
Heavy flounder of making you love me; I cherish
The pride to be your chair, for resting on your destiny,
With my entire passion I try to wrap you and blest

The heart that beats alike a smith inside my chest,
Hurried to wreathe, for you, a chain of golden witchery.

Wednesday, February 2, 1955