"Whence," did you ask, "derives this sadness strange,
In tides sea-like upon the bare black rock?"
Yet once our heart has reaped its harvest plain,
To live is woe. All guard this secret's lock:
A simple, not mysterious pain has come,
And, like your joy, all dazzles in release.
So quit your search, O comely, curious one!
And though of softest voice, so hold your peace!
O foolish one! O ever-happy soul!
Your mouth of childish laughs! Than Life even more,
'Tis Death which binds us by the subtlest beams.
Leave my heart drunk upon a masquerade,
In your eyes plung'd, as in the finest dream,
Adoze for long beneath your brows' dim shade!