Rose, so cherished by our customs,
dedicated to our dearest memories,
become almost imaginary
for being so linked to our dreams—

silent while becoming air, rose
eclipsing all the canticles,
that is triumphant in the rose
window, and between two lovers dies.

There’s rosemary, that’s for rememberance.
Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies,
that’s for thoughts.