Serene-arted winter, lucid in its squall,
The morbid spring has sadly chased away;
Yet in my blood, still bleakness holds its sway,
As impotence into long yawns will sprawl.
Like coronals atop an old sad grave,
White crepuscules above my skull grow warm;
Whilst I through vague and lovely dreams roam on ,
Through sap-strewn fields immense which prance and rave.
Rankl'd, weary from the tree-borne scents, I swoon,
And with my face, so dig my dream a pit,
And bite warm earth that feeds the lilacs' bloom;
I sink in hope that this ennui will quit ...
The Azure laughs now at the waking hedge,
And flower'd birds chirp at the sunlight's edge.