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Poem	If it should ever happen that, without our knowledge, we became a pain or torment or despair one to the other; If it should come about that weariness or hackneyed pleasure unbent in us the golden bow of lofty desire; If the crystal of pure thought must fall in our hearts and break; If, in spite of all, I should feel myself vanquished because I had not bowed my will sufficiently to the divine immensity of goodness; Then, oh! then let us embrace like two sublime madmen who beneath the broken skies cling to the summits even so—and with one flight and soul ablaze grow greater in death.
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