Ancient hours I behold
Under regrets ripening,
And fairer flora spring
From their secrets' azure mould.
Desires blow through my spirit.
O glass upon my desires!
And the withered grass my soul fires,
When breathing memories stir it.
It grows with my thoughts for mould,
And in the blue fleeing fast
I see the griefs of the past
Their flower-petals unfold.
My soul through memories gropes,
Feels the touch of their
Curtaining dead mohair;
And greens with other hopes.