Mentre la baciavo con l’anima sulle labbra, l’anima d’improvviso mi fuggì - Edgar Lee Masters

Maurice, weep not, I am not here under this pine tree.
The balmy air of spring whispers through the sweet grass,
The stars sparkle, the whippoorwill calls,
But thou grievest, while my soul lies rapturous
In the blest Nirvana of eternal light!
Go to the good heart that is my husband,
Who broods upon what he calls our guilty love–
Tell him that my love for you, no less than my love for him
Wrought out my destiny–that through the flesh
I won spirit, and through spirit, peace.
There is no marriage in heaven,
But there is love.

Now I, an under-tenant of the earth, can see
That the branches of a tree
Spread no wider than its roots.
And how shall the soul of a man
Be larger than the life he has lived?

This is life's sorrow:
That one can be happy only where two are;
And that our hearts are drawn to stars
Which want us not.