When sweethearts talk <br />through trees <br />and across thousands of unhappy ways, <br />when they wasp ivy <br />as it could be a song, <br />when they find grace <br />in the agitated spikes <br />high flourishing, <br />when lovers moan <br />they are lords of earth <br />and are nearest to God <br />like the drunkest saints. <br />When sweethearts talk of death <br />they talk of life forever <br />by a parley in a fine esperanto <br />He only knows. <br />Their language is desecrator, <br />but requires neverending grace <br />of a noble absolution. <br /><br />(tr.Vanhacker)
