To love with our eyes, let us lave our gaze of
the gaze of those whose glances we have crossed,
by thousands, in life that is evil and enthralled.
The dawn is of flowers and dew and the mildest
sifted light; soft plumes of silver and sun seem
through the mists to brush and caress the mosses
in the garden.
Our blue and marvellous ponds quiver and come to
life with shimmering gold; emerald wings pass
under the trees; and the brightness sweeps from
the roads, the garths and the hedges the damp
ashen fog in which the twilight still lingers.