My voice that is for you the languid one, and gentle,
Disturbs the velvet of the dark night’s mantle,
By my bedside, a candle, my sad guard,
Burns, and my poems ripple and merge in flood —
And run the streams of love, run, full of you alone,
And in the dark, your eyes shine like the precious stones,
And smile to me, and hear I the voice:
My friend, my sweetest friend… I love… I’m yours… I’m yours!