The Wish

If some good fairy had sewn wings to my back,

weary under the burden of sorrow,

I would not follow these frail butterflies

to rock in the flower's sweet calyx.

Filled with one desire alone, I would forget in my haste

the trees full of nests that lend charm to the road,

the sweet cooing of birds and the spring

where children drink from cupped hands.

Far from the wheat, golden in the morning sun,

without drinking deeply from the urn of a white lily

or setting my light foot on a rose,

far from the poppies I would speed.

I would hasten to you, blue sprite, source of all radiance.

I would alight on your flowered lips,

then fly from your sweet mouth,

having drunk your breath and gathered your kiss.