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I found pleasure without addiction,
Shrugging off debilitating love and desire,
In a green, shadowy forest, which last year
Was already gone, with the same green fire.
No need to heap up leaves
With poems of polite, sighing, words.
I have already sent my love ahead,
To be picked apart by the birds.
Perfumes touch me in idleness.
I find pleasure in small perfumed flowers,
Spreading their small perfumes,
As I hold—and am held by—sleeping green hours,
Happy in their drowsiness, in no hour remaining,
The first hour, one forgotten flower, the fled hour staining.
Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
