I walk alone among my dead departed dreams,
They look like flowers broken among my trees.
How art thou, I asked them,
They reply anon.
Anon, dear flowers, anon,
For they breathe no more,
And I within them, fall, for where is the flows and fancies of this dear life,
Where is the air, where is thy sweet archaic glorious perfume?
Where art thou, Dear friends.
Dear, sweet heart pain, is now my closest companion,
How art thou? It asked, I replied, lost and confused,
Where life have you taken me