after Verlaine
All the roses were red
and the ivy was all black.
Darling, that little shift you make
reawakens all my fears.
The sky was too blue, too tender,
the sea too green and the air too soft.
I always fear – this is what waiting is! –
you’ll abandon me horribly
and I’m tired of the holly-bush with its varnished leaves
and the glossy box tree
and of never-ending countryside
and of everything that isn’t you!