From the silvery ashes of the
worn-out poetry
arises an incarnation
with the insight of
a rectangular pyre,
final smoldering fire.
And the tearful sea-off
at the last harbour
Prized Pains
O lovely tender plants
now put on glorious buds
and adorn this Lyceum
with all beauty and calm.
So many colours and looks!
How sweet is the smell
that lulls the air brook!
Behold the gardener afar
What else could get him happier?
Each praise must be dearer
than one and any sapphire!
