Because I exist
in this solitude
where others tremble before nonexistence,

Because I forget to live,
hunted by the fear of scandal,
trying to prevent
every well-meaning soul from perceiving
my struggle for existence,

I scarcely dare to eat or drink,
nor sit among them at their dances.

Because I live
in the almost unknown uniform
of a legion of strangers,

Because I assume a manner
that is no manner at all,

Because I become entranced by my own traps,

Because I believe
that if they should ask to see my cards,
I am finished—

That is to say, by pretending
that I belong among them, I, the thief
with silent soles,

Because I repay them in their own coin,

And taking the shadow of angels
for the shadow of the hunchback,

And burdening my diving suit
with works ever more suspect,

In the boat with the beautiful rowers,

Because I follow the shadows
of ghosts without castles

Along your deserted shores,

Without ever having lived,
I die.