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I fill them, as one would fill a glass, with all<br />
10my grief for remote memories and black<br />
misfortunes,<br />
the nostalgia of my flower-intoxicated soul<br />
and the pain of a heart grown sorrowful<br />
with fêtes;<br />
with the burden of not being what I might<br />
have been,<br />
the loss of the kingdom that was awaiting<br />
me,<br />
15the thought of the instant when I might<br />
not have been born<br />
and the dream my life has been ever since I<br />
was!<br />
All this has come in the midst of that<br />
boundless silence<br />
in which the night develops earthly<br />
illusions,<br />
and I feel as if an echo of the world's heart<br />
20had penetrated and disturbed my own.
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