by Gerard Nerval
The Thirteenth returns... Once more she is the first;
And she is still the only one, or is this the only moment;
For you are surely queen, first and last?
For you are surely king, O first and last lover?...
Love the one who loves you from the cradle to the grave;
The one alone I love loves me dearly still:
She is death - or the dead one... Delight or torment!
And the rose she holds is the hollyhock.
Saint of Naples with your hands full of fire,
Mauve-hearted rose, flower of Saint Gudule:
Have you discovered your cross in the desert of the skies?
White roses, fall! you offend our gods,