Come back, come back, my dearest love!
Like a flower far from the sun,
The flower of my life has drooped,
Removed from the charm of your smile.
Between our hearts how long a distance!
Too much space between our kisses!
O bitter fate! O cruel absence!
O great longing, so unsatisfied!
From there to there, how wide the country,
How many towns and hamlets,
What winding valleys, rugged mountains,
To tire the horses along the way
Another night has fallen. The red of sunset has faded to darkness, and even the stars shine dim. Again she did not come. What must it take for me to see her again? How long must I wait in torment, unable to know her whereabouts or, more importantly, her feelings. Was it only a dream? Did we not swear to one another that this passion, this secret flame would not be smothered? Every moment I am ready for her, yearning for her arms, and every evening my hopes are dashed, to rise once again with the dawn. Night has become my foe.
I read her letters, so few and sparse, yet telling even in their brevity. The way her pen hesitates on a letter or embellishes a word speaks volumes, though she may not know it. She is so careful with her words that, to a mere observer, we would seem to be nothing more than friends. It is only in these last few tortured days that I have begun to doubt…but no, I cannot think of such things. There can be no mistaking her feelings, nor mine. The only question is whether fate and society will force her into an empty life devoid of passion, or whether she will leave her old world behind and come with me to build our new life together.
I lie ensconced in my bedroom, unwilling to leave even for meals; my clothes seem to hang off of my shrunken frame. There is no sanity left in me, for if she does not come surely I shall throw myself from the far cliffs and into the sea. What use is it to live without my beloved?
As I gaze out the window I see birds rising from the trees, their calls shrill and jarring. I envy them their wings: they alone can fly to my beloved’s side, see where she sleeps tonight. Is it in her father’s house, safe and untroubled by cruel dreams? Or perhaps an inn along the road, halfway to my arms? Oh, were I in her position I would not rest until I held her in my embrace. Until then I must waste away, content in the idea that, should she not return to me, I will not rest much longer upon this earth.