I...

Dream.
Armistice has arrived...

Silver stone among the sea,
heartstrings feel thine love for me...

Burn
The hate...

I
The stars above the city aren't shimmering...

I give not of myself to thee,
a love like thou has given me...

Sometimes I sleep at night
empty of myself, inebriated...

What summer's day has passed?
Yet well too soon...

Death has acquired a place here,
the roses have all turned to dirt...

Come, sweet death,
into the arms of my embrace...

My nightingale sings of passing flesh,
which daily sought to find itself in lover's eyes...

I have loved thee centuries
before thy birth, ages waned...