You would cut the lagoon with your oar.
You and I, we would meet up at sunset.
I fell in love with the dress that you wore,
All my prior ambitions were nonsense.
Left alone, we would quietly sit,
And our silence was awkward and moody.
On the shore, evening candles were lit.
Someone thought of the light-pale beauty.
There was never love’s ardor or bliss,
The quiet azure overpowered our passions…
We would meet in the gray evening mist,
By the shore, among ripples and rushes.
No more sorrow or love, no more yearning,
All would vanish, forgotten, repressed…
With it, vanished the voices of mourning,
The gold oar and the white summer dress.
May 13, 1902