by Gerard Nerval  The Thirteenth returns... Once more she is the first;  And she is still the only one, or is this the only moment;  For you are surely queen, first and last?  For you are surely king, O first and last lover?...  Love the one who loves you from the cradle to the grave;  The one alone I love loves me dearly still:  She is death - or the dead one... Delight or torment!  And the rose she holds is the hollyhock.  Saint of Naples with your hands full of fire,  Mauve-hearted rose, flower of Saint Gudule:  Have you discovered your cross in the desert of the skies?  White roses, fall! you offend our gods,