For those whom much is given, much is ever lost

Thou mayest lose thy faith on men, but never in thine host

 
The fleeting and suffering soul

The gentle soul, the fragrant soul

 
From the divine lilies I picked

In the garden of your wit

 
Where did the winds chase it

This adorable lilies’ spirit?

 
Is it no more a perfume that remains

Its celestial sweetness

 
Of the days when you enveloped me

Within a supernatural mist

 
Made of hope, sympathy

Of peace and bliss?

 


Romance.

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