Upon the breeze of a mist ;
Came the woodwind of verdant broods
Petals oozing to bloom !
O ! The young bud of may
In the hill of snowy Appenines .
Air are rose scented ;
And the rose herself has got.
Over the clear sky of opollo
As she the whitest fay of cloud.
What love did my heart rent ?
Of life with thought so sick
To feel of not to think ;
Pleasure's bloom no flower
My mind dwell in Mnemosyne of you.
©iconic
I