“Consider how the LILIES grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith!

Gradiva qui hante mes rêves
Comme dans l'arbre la sève
Dans le marbre la lumière
Le parfum dans l'air

Ta chevelure est la forêt
Où mes doigts s'aventurent
Dans l'obscurité peuplée
D'étranges créatures

Tu ne parles pas tu chantes
Sur une musique ensorcelante
Et je te vois courir
Je ne puis te saisir

Echoué au jour qui se lève
A la grève des rêves
Je reste là songeur
De longues heures

Le vent de la passion
Arrache à la realité
Son masque de compromission
De lâche fatalité.
...........................................................

Gradiva who haunts my dreams
As in the tree the sap
In the marble the light
The perfume in the air

Your hair is the forest
Where my fingers venture
In the populated darkness
Of strange creatures

You do not speak you sing
On a bewitched music
And I see you running
I may not seize you

Run aground at the day
At the strand of the dreams
I remain pensive there
Of long hours

The wind of the passion
Tear away from the reality
His mask of dishonest compromise
Of loose fate.

P.H.