It Was Not You Poem by André Spire

IT was not you I was waiting for,
Always.
It was not you that I saw,
In the dreams of my boyhood's days,
And of my youth.

It is not you I sought
In bodies like a goblet wrought.
It is not you I saw in my dreams
Coming down the hillside, girt with beams.

We were walking on our way.
Our paths met suddenly, one day.
We stretched our hands out to each other.

The days have fled,
My well-beloved.

translated by Jethro Bithell