Most brightly of all burned the hair of my evening loved one: <br />to her I send the coffin of lightest wood. <br />Waves billow round it as round the bed of our dream in Rome; <br />it wears a white wig as I do and speaks hoarsely: <br />it talks as I do when I grant admittance to hearts. <br />It knows a French song about love, I sang it in autumn <br />when I stopped as a tourist in Lateland and wrote my letters <br /> to morning. <br /> <br />A fine boat is that coffin carved in the coppice of feelings. <br />I too drift in it downbloodstream, younger still than your eye. <br />Now you are young as a bird dropped dead in March snow, <br />now it comes to you, sings you its love song from France. <br />You are light: you will sleep through my spring till it's over. <br />I am lighter: <br />in front of strangers I sing.<br /><br />Paul Celan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/night-ray/
