The violets are here to be picked, Your violets, Large and purple and smelling sweet, And the aconites have come out Beneath the trees, Your aconites. In the southern border under the wall Are delicate iris stylosa, filmy and fragrant, Your irises. O gentle, lovely spirit that tended these flowers, Where are you? You cannot have left all these that were a part of you. Are you mingled with them, A fragrance? A breath? |