Alphonse Daudet. (№ 397528)

Look in her face again,
I beg you dear!
Before us she, like a living -
Buried our love.
Sparing of work and suffering,
Without pangs and burning agony,
We cleaned in the coffin.
We have long blamed fate;
Woe to the women is not forever
And the poet's sadness is fleeting.
But as the weeks pass, and again,
Attracted by a strange force
We sadly stand over the grave,
Where rests our love.