Open your closed eyelid,
Brushed by a virginal dream.
I am the spectre of a rose
That you wore last night to the ball.

You took me still pearled
With the silver tears of the watering can,
And about the starry fest
You carried me all evening.

You who were the cause of my death:
Powerless to chase it away
Each night my rose~colored spectre
Will dance at your bedside.

But fear nothing: I require
Neither Mass nor De Profundis.
This fragile perfume is my soul
And I come from paradise.

My lot was to be envied:
And to have so lovely a fate
More than one would have given his life;
For on your breast is my tomb

And on the alabaster where I rest
A poet, with a kiss,
Has written: "Here lies a rose
To make all the kings jealous."