Monk-girl, close me in your dark;
O you mountains, cool and blue!
Downward bleeds the darkened dew;
In starlight the cross looms stark.
Crimson broke both mouth and lies
In the ruined chambers' cold;
Laughter comes with games of gold,
And the bells' last echo dies.
Mooncloud! wild fruits at night's seam
From the tree fall in the gloom;
And all space becomes a tomb,
The seething of the earth a dream.
from Song of the West
translated by Robert Firmage
(North Point 1988)