In t'is warmth, with th' sun glistening outside,
retreated I into th' magnanimous background,
hoping to absorb some air-scented like fruits, and
t'at but satisfied my soul! Chuckled I to myself,
upon t'is prosaic, but audacious discovery-and
proceeded I into th' wooden distance. But disdained
was I, that even in t'at leafy silence, in which I conjectured
swarms of love must've been present, still absent wert
thou-no matter how hard I insisted, I was not chanced
to set my gaze on th' very loveliness I was seeking-I was
shrunk into th' cruelth abode of mystery-hence, once more!
And saunter did I-forward and forward, looking like a
sun-drenched fir fr'm head t' toe, but still didst I do 't in
vain-still I couldn't find thee, querida.