The Unknown Friend

Longing for her!

In this twilight so empty of her caress.

The hills are covered with the soft,

Brown fur of trees, which the last

Sunlight touches.

And the sky is this limpid jewel,

This globe of enchanted glass

Which you might hold in your palm,

In the small cup of your hand…

And gazing, fall into it

And be lost in blissful death.