which he spoke in order to live.
Pillow his head amid them,
let him feel
the tongues of longing,
Lay that word on the dead man's eyelids
which he refused to him
who addressed him as thou,
his leaping heart-blood passed by
when a hand as bare as his own
knotted him who addressed him as thou
into the trees of the future.
Lay this word on his eyelids:
his eye, still blue, will assume
a second, more alien blueness,
and he who addressed him as thou
will dream with him: We.
(Poems of Paul Celan, Persea Books, New York,
translated by Michael Hamburger)