These vows, these perfumes, and these countless kisses,

Reborn from gulfs that we could never sound,

Will they, like suns, once bathed in those abysses,

Rejuvenated from the deep, rebound -

These vows, these perfumes, and these countless kisses

“Whence”, ask you, “does this strange new sadness flow

Like rising tides on rocks, black, bare and vast?”

For human hearts, when vintage-time is past,

To live is bad. That secret all men know -

Paris has changed, but in my grief no change.

New palaces and scaffoldings and blocks,

To me, are allegories, nothing strange.

My memories are heavier than rocks.