Wishes buried in my grave...

A long-dreamed virgin, lover, wife, friend.
My childhood sleeps with the charming ghost.
He experienced his first awakening;
who frequently mingled, young and lively unknowns,
For our innocent games, the ingenuous caress
From your golden kiss;
a well-known fugitive who is always being pursued;
The mysterious angel who passed through my life,
pointed me in the right direction.
And who, from above, is leaning over your fresh dewy neck?
A finger towards the future, to my exhausted soul.
It seemed to say, "Tomorrow!"
Since then, less playful and more beautiful with age,
He smiled at me from afar, in the waves of the beach,
In the roving cloud;
Whose voice did I hear at night, when everything rests?
And from which I breathed on the rose's breast.
The odorous sigh;
Tomorrow has not come; I dare not wait for him.
But, as a sensitive, gentle, and tender ghost,
Tomorrow could come;
If I could reach down here, your image,
You are to place the homage at your feet with a full heart.
And then there's you, virgin...
Ah! I hope not, but don't be surprised if I do.
Dry the green leaf between your flowery fingers.
From the button, you’re holding,
Pour icy breath on your quick demise.
Poison in your honey, and your clear days.
The bitterness is mine.
Take advantage of the hour;
For more than one afflicted person who suffers alone and cries...