She said: “What of me, if I sleep not, and see the ashes?”
I yawned: I said, “I know not;
I wake in the sun and go forth.”
The bow of her lips was like the moon’s cold circle.
She said, “Hunter, you have told me of Love!”
“It may be so,” I answered. I wished to sleep.
She said, “Already it is ashes.”
I looked and saw that her face was gray,
As if the wind had blown the ashes over it.
I was angry; I said, “Better you had slept.”