Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the land grows pale,
I will leave. You see, I know you wait for me.
I will go through the forest, I will climb the hill,
I can no longer stay far from you.
I will walk with eyes fixed on my thoughts,
Seeing nothing around me, hearing no sound,
Alone, unknown, back hunched, hands crossed,
Sad—and for me, the day will be like night.
I will not look upon the golden fall of evening,
Nor the distant sails descending toward Harfleur,
And when I arrive, I will lay upon your grave
A bouquet of green holly and blossoming heather.