But The Problem Is To Make The

O Witches, O Misery, O Hate, To You Has My Treasure Been Entrusted! I Contrived To Purge My Mind Of All Human Hope. On All Joy, To Strangle It, I Pounced With The Strength Of A Wild Beast. I Called To The Plagues To Smother Me In Blood, In Sand, Misfortune Was My God.

I Have Stretched Ropes From Steeple To Steeple; Garlands From Window To Window; Golden Chains From Star To Star, And I Dance.

He Would Say, "how Funny It Will All Seem, All You've Gone Through, When I'm Not Here Anymore, When You No Longer Feel My Arms Around Your Shoulders, Nor My Heart Beneath You, Nor This Mouth On Your Eyes, Because I Will Have To Go Away Some Day, Far Away..." And In That Instant I Could Feel Myself With Him Gone, Dizzy With Fear, Sinking Down Into The Most Horrible Blackness: Into Death.

I Turned Silences And Nights Into Words. What Was Unutterable, I Wrote Down. I Made The Whirling World Stand Still.

You Feel On Your Lips A Kiss Fluttering, A Tiny Scrap Of Life.