Absent! The morning when I go
farther than afar, to the Mystery,
as if following inevitable ray,
your feet will glide towards the cemetery.
Absent! The morning when on the shore
of the sea of shadows and of the silent empire,
I leave like a mournful bird,
the white vault will be your prison.
It will have become dark in your gaze;
and you will suffer, and you will then take hold of
penitent lacerated whitenesses.
Absent! And in your own sufferings,
amidst a cry of bells,
a pack of regrets will cross you!