to see him again
And shall it never be again, never? Not on nights filled with trembling of stars, or by the pure light of virginal dawns, or on afternoons of immolation? Never, at the edge of any pale pathway that borders the field, or beside any tremulous fountain white under the moon? Never, beneath the entangled tresses of the forest where, calling out to him, night descended on me? Nor in the cavern that returns my echoing outcry? Oh, no! Just to see him again, no matter where - in little patches of sky or in the seething vortex, beneath placid moons or in a livid horror! And, together with him, to be all springtimes and all winters, entwined in one anguished knot around his blood-stained neck!