Love! Even convulsing, even in the grave

Love! Even convulsing, even in the grave,
I’ll get attentive - squint - get scared - and dart.
My dear! We’ll part in neither snowy caves
Nor in the graves of clouds shall we part!

I have been blessed with these two gorgeous
Wings, and I refuse to load my heart with weights.
And I won’t multiply the villagers’ misfortune
Of swaddled, blind, voiceless, wretched fates.

I’ll free my arms! - And then, my sturdy torso
Out of your garments, Death, with just one blow!
And for a thousand of yards, the forest
Will burn to ash and melt the fallen snow.

And even if, - pressing my wings, and shoulders,
And knees, I’ll let you take me to the tomb, -
I’ll do this only so that, later, laughing over
The ash, - I’ll rise up as a poem or a bloom.