Me, who’s living all through among significations,
And doesn’t mystify me easily a face,
I can see the lie slipping from tender gestures,
I see the dagger hidden under the warm embrace,
I discerned you amongst your heavy shields,
Your innate golden ingot completely withstood,
Yielding to the aqua regia of my own turpitude,
That one which bites the people and tries to chose...
Because it’s wisdom knowing how to be evil too,
Under the trials and tortures, the soul unfolds hard-tried...
Don’t spare me, just strike! My dear, you are the following:
The more smitten the love, the more it will excite,

Likewise the red iron, shaped by a smith while burning,
The love steels, and dresses you skin-tight...

Sunday, January 9, 1955