I love peace and solitude. I aspire to live in a spacious old house, where there is no other sound but that of a fountain. It will occupy the center of the courtyard, in the midst of trees that, to shelter from sun and wind the sleep of its waters, will interweave their moaning crowns. I shall receive solely the visit of birds, which will find rest in my silent sanctuary. They will amuse me with arbitrary flights and natural songs; their simplicity of innocent creatures will dissipate in my spirit the exasperating unease of rancor. Then, the coolness of oblivion.
Devotion and study will help me cultivate austerity like an ascetic, so that neither human interest nor worldly yearning will hinder the wings of my meditation, which from soaring will rest in the solemn heights of ecstasy. There, my spirit will descry the ambiguous refulgence of unattainable truth.
The novelties and variations of the world will arrive ameliorated to the site of my withdrawal, as if some heavy atmosphere had deadened them. I shall not accept any galling emotion or violent impression: light will arrive after losing its fire in the thick weave of trees, noise will be spent in the distance before invading my placid sanctuary, obscurity will serve as safeguard to my repose, the mantles of shadow will surround the diaphanous, impassive lake of silence.
I shall oppose to the fluid course of time the serenity of the sphinx before the golden ocean. My poise will not be shaken by the splendid days of sun, which communicate their fortune of festive squires, or by the opaque days of rain that flaunt the ashes of penance. In that level-headed disposition I shall wait for the moment and confront the mystery of death.
She will come, in the most quiet of nights, to startle me by the mute fountain. To increase the sanctity of my last hour, a holy rumor, as of winged seraphim, will vibrate, and a crystalline outpour of consolation will descend from the altar of the conflagrant sky. The belated attention of humankind will be useless to my carcass. Long before them, the greatest rite of my austere funeral will have been performed by the virginal kiss of the vulture and the commotion of friendly birds.
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