I sowed a seed in the meadow,
between the hills and amongst the woods.
Starry night, with the daughter of the widow,
watered every pulse and there I stood.
My life encompassed within that,
austere it was–lively and hale;
romanced with tufts and the wild weeds,
when I slept, in the vale.
Senescent days and I were only left
besides teasing the immortal regrets,
shadows of the tree everywhere—impotent rays theft.
Love deeply and pain you beget!
Glowed the forest when I smoked
lost was a seed already–with a desire.
If they found it, their life will be choked
and every remaining day on a fire.