Absent! The morning when I go away

farther than far, to the Mystery,

as if following the inevitable ray,

your feet will slide into the cemetery.

Absent! The morning when, like a rueful bird,

I go away to the shore of

the sea of shadow and silent empire,

the white pantheon will be your captivity.

Night will have fallen in your glances;

and you will suffer, and then acquire

penitent lacerated whitenesses.

Absent! And in your own suffering

amid a wail of bronzes

a pack of remorse will lope by!