Hurry, for the horses are galloping along the road.
Our death is being saddled now. They are tightening the cinch.
Just keep shouting, "My heart is never bitter!"
Come, only a moment is left, the sun is touching
The sea at Point Lobos; those waves that Jeffers knew
Will soon wear the Lincolnish coats of night!
You’ve waited so long for me. And where was I?
Whatever pleases the greedy soul is like a drop
Of burning oil to the heart. What shall we do?
While they saddle the horses, just keep shouting,
"My grief is a horse; I am the missing rider!"
The grief of absence is the only bread I eat.
Whatever pleases the heart is like a drop of burning
Oil to the greedy soul, which can’t bear one moment
When men and women are tender with each other.
You know the writer of this poem has a thin
Hold on the reins, and is about to fall off.
Hold on. The horses are galloping toward the night.