Flowers, cold from the dew, And autumn's approaching breath, I pluck for the warm, luxuriant braids, Which haven't faded yet. In their nights, fragrantly resinous, Entwined with delightful mystery, They will breathe in her springlike Extraordinary beauty. But in a whirlwind of sound and fire, From her shing head they will flutter And falland before her They will die, faintly fragrant still. And, impelled by faithful longing, My obedient gaze will feast upon them With a reverent hand, Love will gather their rotting remains.
Everything’s looted, betrayed and traded,black death’s wing’s overhead.Everything’s eaten by hunger, unsated,so why does a light shine ahead?By day, a mysterious wood, near the town,breathes out cherry, a cherry perfume.By night, on July’s sky, deep, and transparent,new constellations are thrown.And something miraculous will comeclose to the darkness and ruin,something no-one, no-one, has known,though we’ve longed for it since we were children.