And then we cowards who loved the whispering evening, the houses, the paths by the river, the dirty red lights of those places, the sweet soundless sorrow—we reached our hands out toward the living chaining silence, but our heart startled us with blood, and no more sweetness then, no more losing ourselves on the path by the river—no longer slaves, we knew we were alone and alive.(Translated By Geoffrey Brock)

Disaffections: Complete Poems