Comfort of hair

I was watching at you last night. In a dream. Sad. Dead.
In the fatal hall, in the idyllic of flowers,
At high catafalque, in the agony of candles,
Ready to surrender you my life as a sacrifice.

I did not cry. I did not. Amazed I was standing
In the fatal hall, full of beautiful death,
Doubting that the dark eyes were clear
From where it used to shine a better life.

Everything, really everything is dead: her eyes, breath and hands,
Everything I desperately tried to revive
In blind terror and the passion of suffering,

In the fatal hall, in grey thoughts
Only your hair was still alive,
And it said: - Be calm! In death you can dream.