Only when it ceases to be, is Love strong!

And the tomb will be a huge eyeball,

in whose depths the anguish of love

survives and weeps, as in a chalice

of sweet eternity and black dawn.

And lips curl up for the kiss,

as when something full overflows and dies;

and, in convulsed conjunction,

each mouth renounces for the other

a life of moribund life.

And when I think this way, sweet is the tomb

where everybody finally interpenetrates

in a single roar;

sweet is the shadow, where everybody unites

in a universal assignation of love.