WHAT have we done, my poor, pale dear, alas!
What was this frantic whirlwind of desire
That took our souls in kisses, sobs, and fire,
To cast us back half dead upon the grass ...

What were these throbbing, sobbing, dolorous spasms,
This hymen that soared with us to the height
Of burning human bliss, and yet with fright
Seemed to be hovering over cruel chasms?

Alas! What have we done? The sun is prying
Under the boughs, the bees still hum apace,
As when my hands seized yours and would not sever:

Nothing at all is changed, but you are crying ...
And I can look no more into your face ...
Something in us is broken now for ever!

translated by Jethro Bithell