In the empty, transparent hall of a garden
I go rustling with the dry leaves:
What a strange pleasure
To trample the past by my own foot!
How sweet to recollect everything
That was appreciated by me so little formerly!
What great there are both pain and grief in the hope
To greet the spring at least once more!
I go rustling with the dry leaves:
What a strange pleasure
To trample the past by my own foot!
How sweet to recollect everything
That was appreciated by me so little formerly!
What great there are both pain and grief in the hope
To greet the spring at least once more!
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