In youth, to myself I thought,
'Is true love bound in some far away place?'
I flew off— picturing dreams to be had.
Ah, so much in books and on film I saw
And so I settled my gaze,
Westward to love.

And I met a girl who knew,
Trades of skin which came and quickly fell,
Of longings true it was not to be had.
Ah, so much in books and on film I saw,
So I left her one glad day,
For we did not love.

O love, so nebulous a thing,
Windings on wheels, windy fates command,
If I could but contain her starry light,
In a wrapped box of hopes, still, on reels,
Recorded in books, in films— fables,
Ah, such an album I would dream.

Then came my only, true one,
The coolest rains held in longest summer,
But soon even bliss in a shower ends
And words to eyes but stories— whims.
Ah, so many pictures I made,
In a camera without film.