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June

I have nothing but my sorrow and I want nothing more. It has been, it still is, faithful to me.

Why should I begrudge it, since during the hours when my soul crushed the depths of my heart, it was seated there beside me?

O sorrow, I have ended, you see, by respecting you, because I am certain you will never leave me.

Ah! I realize it: your beauty lies in the force of your being. You are like those who never left the sad fireside corner of my poor black heart.

O my sorrow, you are better than a well-beloved: because I know that on the day of my final agony, you will be there, lying in my sheets, O sorrow, so that you might once again attempt to enter my heart.

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