only searching:

for my night, to rescue it from slow extinction,

in the corner... that I may mingle its tasks with the tasks of my day,

and stir a throbbing in the limbs of my fresh, strangled love, that it may come back to me with the April of blossoms on the boughs of our trees, setting fruit. With the last cold migrating breeze, so that a scorching blaze may course through our air and our earth. With the despair that lifts, every moment, a handful of dust from our graves, to dig holes in which our end takes cover!

So let us all laugh at the farce of our lives...

Come, let us laugh. And let us guffaw with joy at the sweet, precious gift... Come!