The blood of petals blown adorns the ground;
The ravishment of roses has begun;
A rivulet of crimson fills a mound;
Another grieving forest hides the sun:
Possession sated, gone without a sound,
The wind with ghosts of bodies must have run;
Not even memory can heal the wound,
Nor melody give reeds a life undone:

The evergreens enfold the shrine and proud
Cypresses embalm their pointed lust;
The shadows myrtles bow with hold the shroud
While agonies of cedars lay the dust:
Gray laurels, now beheaded, once endowed
With nodding blue, lament the lonely trust.