Poems to Night

O now we have, with what whimpering
caressed ourselves, shoulders and eyelids.
And night has withdrawn into the rooms
like a wounded beast, in pain through us.
 
Were you elected from all for me,
was the sister not sufficient?
Lovely as a valley to me was your essence,
and now too, from the prow of the heavens
 
it bows down an unfailing apparition
and he takes possession. Where to go?
Alas, with the gesture of mourning
you incline towards me, un-consoled.