We are not sundered for we never met.
We only passed each other in the throng,
We moved together but not long . . . not long . . .
You were indifferent . . . and I may forget
Your profound eyes, your heavy hair, your voice
So clear, yet deep and low with tenderness.
That lingered on my ears like a caress
And roused my heart to make a futile choice.
·⁠·⁠·⁠·⁠·⁠·
O! Poet that passed me carelessly in the throng—
O! Soul that clamoured unto God in song!
How should I lose you thus and lack regret?