My mind goes and I die whenever you admit that you have sinned,

and through my limbs cold drops flow.

Then I love, then in vain I hate what I must love;

Then I want to be dead – but with you!

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Because that Death is final, However first it be, This instant be suspended Above Mortality-