The Lovers’ Death (La Mort des Amants)

Soft perfumes will fill our beds
Our couches will be deep as tombs,
On every cupboard overhead,
Exotic flowers in full bloom

Combusting in their final blaze,
Our hearts will burn like two great signal fires,
As they reflect their gleaming rays
In both our minds, like double mirrors.

One evening made of mystic blue and rose,
We’ll with a single lightning flash dispose,
A final howl, burdened with farewell;

And later sneaking through the open frame,
An angel will restore, with tender spell,
The tarnished mirrors and exhausted flame.

[Original poem here.]


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