Hurry, for the horses are galloping along the road.

Our death is being saddled now.  They are tightening the cinch.

Just keep shouting, "My heart is never bitter!"

Come, only a moment is left, the sun is touching

The sea at Point Lobos; those waves that Jeffers knew

Will soon wear the Lincolnish coats of night!

You’ve waited so long for me.  And where was I?

Whatever pleases the greedy soul is like a drop

Of burning oil to the heart.  What shall we do?

While they saddle the horses, just keep shouting,

"My grief is a horse; I am the missing rider!"

The grief of absence is the only bread I eat.

Whatever pleases the heart is like a drop of burning

Oil to the greedy soul, which can’t bear one moment

When men and women are tender with each other.

You know the writer of this poem has a thin

Hold on the reins, and is about to fall off.

Hold on.  The horses are galloping toward the night.