great happiness Could be measured with precision Of sharp pain

The end was quick and bitter. 

Slow and sweet was the time between us, 

Slow and sweet were the nights 

When my hands did not touch one another in despair 

But in the love
of your body 

Which came
between them. 

And when I entered into you 

It seemed then that great happiness 

Could be measured with precision 

Of sharp pain. Quick and bitter. 

Slow and sweet were the nights. 

Now is bitter and grinding as sand— 

'We shall be sensible' and similar curses. 

And as we stray further from love 

We multiply the words, 

Words and sentences long and orderly. 

Had we remained together

We could have become a silence.

[Yehuda Amichai {1924-2000} 'Quick And Bitter' {trans. from the Hebrew by Assia Gutmann}, from Love Poems {Everyman's Library Pocket Poets}]