But one day, in early Autumn
Disappeared his Satanella,
As a bird from forest's shadows
As a golden bee from meadows . . .
Flying, mayhap, with the swallows.
But next year, when through the window
May exhaled sweet scent of roses,
She returned there with the first bird,
With first primrose of the meadows.
Soon the knight became accustomed
To the flowers and the kisses,
While his kisses often wandered
From the blooms to lips so tender,
Like the bees for honey hung'ring.
Thus, today, long winter over,
With the blooms came Satanella.
But, my heavens—child no longer
But a woman in full beauty.
Bud of amaranth no longer
Now a scented rose, dark colored:
Now a bashful child no longer
But a maid, eyes closed demurely
In a joyous, glad confusion.
Tender lips that were but segments
Of pale leaves of briar roses,
Now have opened in full blossom
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