The Fountain of Blood

  It seems to me at times my blood flows out in waves
  Like a fountain that gushes in rhythmical sobs.
  I hear it clearly, escaping with long murmurs,
  But I feel my body in vain to find the wound.

  Across the city, as in a tournament field,
  It courses, making islands of the paving stones,
  Satisfying the thirst of every creature
  And turning the color of all nature to red.

  I have often asked insidious wines
  To lull to sleep for a day my wasting terror;
  Wine makes the eye sharper, the ear more sensitive!

  I have sought in love a forgetful sleep;
  But love is to me only a bed of needles
  Made to slake the thirst of those cruel prostitutes!