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IVY has covered all the wall. How many hours, how many tears, since once we loved? How many days?


No roses now; ivy has torn the vine. Where is thy soul?... Climbing o'er the swallows nests, the ivy has stifled all the manor.


O wind! The roses of old time have filled the well.--Is it there that thou hast hidden, my dead wife?


None answers. Who should answer??... Were it not better listen to the wind singing in the grasses: "My sweet love"?


Level with the roof the ancient sun, the crimson sun, is through the middle cut so sadly.


Shall I call the gardener? The gardener? It would be better call to Death to mow the grass.


So many memories and so much love, and the sun level with the earth.