Evening

THE seraph of the eve past flower-beds strays ...
The subtle colours of the sunset die
An exquisite death, long lingering in the sky;
The Lady of Reveries the Church organ plays.

Past hearts the seraph of the evening goes ...
The virgins drink love on the zephyr's wing;
And on the flowers and virgins opening
Adorable paleness gradually snows.

The roses bow their heads as night grows darker;
The soul of Schumann wandering through space
A pain incurable seems to be sighing ...
Somewhere a little baby must be dying ...
My soul, put in the breviary a marker,
The Angel takes the tears from thy dream's face.