Soundless Rest.
How pale, whiter than white are your lips, shaping
not one word now, immovably soundless, making
their roundness ever more pressed into my heart.
Your silken tresses coiled in small ringlets, parted
by fine little wisps above your primrose-soft face,
of unwrinkled pink now forever remaining a babe.
Two feel-of-rosebud hands laid so sweetly beneath
the shroud, why did you leave me Infanta, impeach
all my hopes and dreams, the most gentle of access
to paradise lay in your smile, dear sleeping princess.
The pavane will be dancing you first into soundless
rest while I restive remain to forever feel grounded
by thirst for your breath while crying sorrow\'s adieu
for all my tomorrows will besmirch life without you.