April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
Sadly, I part from you; Like a clam torn from its shell, I go, and autumn too.
I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.