COWARDICE

She passed with her mother. What rare beauty!
What blond hair of garzul wheat!
What rhythm in her step! And knowledge of duty
innate! What forms under fine lace sheet...

She passed with her mother. Turned her head:
within me stuck deeply her blue face!

I stay as in ecstasy... Fever sped,
"Follow her!" yelled body and soul apace.

...But I feared loving unto madness,
opening my wounds, that bleed fast,
and despite all my thirst for tenderness,
closing my eyes, I left her to pass!