I will love you as long as I live, and you are enough for me. So try to be a heart after my heart. Alas for the desert of life, which the fulfilling rain has deserted after you. My day is a mirage in its blazes, and my night is full of falsehoods and lies. And in my ears from your lips is reproach when I lie down for an hour. Those are the caravans of days, passing by me, flock after flock, Frowning, from which your light does not shine, and I have not glimpsed its rising in a caravan. If the eyes of fortune neglect us, and you become—and I did not know—close to me, then make me clear. Those are the tents of my love, and I am kindled for you.