We present this work in honor of the poet’s 140th birthday.

The ancient spiders with a flutter spread
Their misty marvels through the withered flowers,
The windows, by the moonlight pierced, would shed
Their trembling garlands pale across the bowers.

The balconies looked over to the South;
The night was one immortal and serene;
From fields afar the newborn springtime’s mouth
Wafted a breath of sweetness o’er the scene.

How silent! Grief had hushed its spectral moan
Among the shadowy roses of the sward;
Love was a fable—shadows overthrown
Trooped back in myriads from oblivion’s ward.

The garden’s voice was all—empires had died—
The azure stars in languor having known
The sorrows all the centuries provide,
With silver crowned me there, remote and lone.

Translation by Thomas Walsh