Unto the ghostly garden unto the laurels mute Of the green garlands Unto the autumn land One last salute! Out to the dried hillsides Reddened hard in the terminal sun Confounded into grumbles Gruff life afar is crying: Crying to the dying sun that sheds A blood that dyes the flowerbeds. A bra** band plays Ear-piercingly away: the river fades Out amidst the gilded sands: in the quiet The great white statues stand at the bridgehead Turned: and what was once is now no more. And from the depths of quiet as it were a chorus Soft and splendorous Yearns its way to the heights of my terrace: And in an air of laurel, In an air of laurel languorous and blade-bare, Among the statues immortal under sundown She appears to me, is there.