Translation:Ars

Verse is a sacred kiss. Put in it only that, a pure thought, In whose bottom bubble up boiling the images Like bubbles of gold in an old dark wine!

There pour the flowers that in the continious fight which wears out the world with cold, Of delicious memories of times that will not return, And spikenards soaked with drops of dew

So that miserable existence is embalmed Like an unknown essence Burning in the fire of soul moved By that supreme balsam under just a single drop! Ars