Verse is a sacred kiss. Put in it only that,
a pure thought,
In whose bottom bubble up boiling the images
Like bubbles of gold in an old dark wine!
There pour the flowers that in the continious fight
which wears out the world with cold,
Of delicious memories of times that will not return,
And spikenards soaked with drops of dew
So that miserable existence is embalmed
Like an unknown essence
Burning in the fire of soul moved
By that supreme balsam under just a single drop!