The Rhymes

The ryhmes of a lyre are butterflies

whose wings are sound and harmonies

     resonant and sinuous;

     now grave and sorrowful,

     now gentle,

like melodies and pleasing symphonies

sung in the branches by the birds,

to the measured murmur of cascades andtorrents.

They are aromas enclosed in a poet's soul,

   -in the dreaming soul

that fly after sweet dreams in the air-

that perfume the hair of a seductive virgin

    with the fragrance of the violets

    and sampaga,

with scents that illusions sature

the dreams that in his mind a damsel drew.

They are the flowering roses of  Idea

    in the beautiful spring of life,

    when the soul revels

in an orchard of flowery hopes,

chasing amongst the flowers a bewitching image,

an image of a lost dragonfly

that escapes through the vague and misty horizons.