I will display for Tilia, in her tragedy,
my stanzas in rich clusters;
every melodious fruit will bleed
like a funereal sun, lugubrious wines.
                   Tilia will extend the cross
that in the final hour will be of light!

    I will seize for Tilia, in her tragedy,
the drop of clamour upon my lips;
and the lip, curling for the kiss,
will sunder in a hundred sacred petals.
                   Tilia will extend the dagger,
the flower-killing dagger of dawn!

    Once in the shadow, heroine, pure and martyr,
you will have Life under your soles;
while you keep watch, telling my stanzas,
over my head, like a Host in wine-coloured blood!
                   And in a lily, voracious,
you’ll drink, like a virus, my blood!
 
 

Translated by Michael Smith and Valentino Gianuzzi