The Less I See Her by Darius Milhaud
The more I hate her, the less she angers me.
The more I esteem her, the less I notice her;
The more I flee from her, the more I want her to hold on to me.
At once, two different arrows are shot at me:
Love and hate, boredom along with pleasure.
Strong is the love that comes then to seize me
When hate comes and vengeance cries out to me;
Thus my vain desire makes me hate
Her for whom my heart still beseeches me.
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