Sigh

My soul rises towards your brow o calm sister, where there lies dreaming

An autumn strewn with russet freckles,

And towards the restless sky of your angelic eye,

As in a melancholy garden,

A white fountain faithfully sighs towards the Azure!

Towards the compassionate azure of pale and pure October,

Which mirrors its infinite languor in the great pools

And, on the stagnant water where the tawny agony

Of the leaves stirs in the wind and digs a cold furrow,

Lets the yellow sun drag itself out in a long ray.