A long time have I known you… Why,
Full eighteen years, I must confess!
All pink are you; pale, blear am I.
Winters, mine; yours, spring’s comeliness!
White cemetery lilacs sprout
Over my temples; but soon, now,
The grove entire will bloom about
My head, to shade my withered brow.
Pallid, my sun sinks low, and will
Soon fade on the horizon’s face;
And on the mournful, doleful hill
I see my final dwelling-place.
Oh! May you from your lips let fall
A kiss, too long delayed, upon
My own, so that beneath my pall
I may rest, heart at peace, anon…
~ Théophile Gautier