Poems to a Mysterious Woman

I have dreamed so much of youthat you lose your reality.Is there still time to reach that living bodyand kiss on that mouth the birthof the voice which is dear to me.I have dreamed so much of you,that my arms accustomed while embracing your shadowto folding over my breast would not bendto the shape of your body perhaps.And that, before the real appearance of what has haunted meand ruled me for days and yearsI should become doubtless a shade,O sentimental scalesI have dreamed of you so much that it is no longer rightfor me to awaken. I sleep standing my body exposed toall the appearances of life and love, and you, the onlyone who counts today for me, I could touch your browand your lips lessthan the lips and brow of the finest person who came.I have dreamed so much of youwalked so much, spoken, lain with your phantom that allI have to do now perhaps is to be a phantom amongphantoms and a ghost a hundred times more than theghost who walks and will walk gaily over the sun-dialof your life.