The Beloved Sleeps on the Breast of the Poet

You will never know how much I love you
because you sleep and have slept in me.
I hide you weeping, pursued
by a voice of penetrating steel.

A law that disturbs both flesh and star
pierces my aching breast now,
and clouded words have eaten at
the wings of your severe spirit.

A knot of people leap in the gardens
waiting for your body and my pain
on horses of light with emerald manes.

But, my beloved, keep on sleeping.
Hear my shattered blood in the violins!
Beware lest they still lie in wait for us!