It's those damnable curls that I see when my eyelids slide down

That revive my exhausted and lost in mad wonderings spirit.

Catlike eyes shine like beacons when darkness surrounds;

For the touch of pale hands any saint would have sinned.

I will never forget wisps of smoke carried out from the hearth,

Perfect lines of your limbs move with violin's sound.

And I know till the very last time I draw my shuddering breath,

It's those damnable curls I will see when my eyelids slide down.