XXXII
Dawn in the Park

The leaves are solid
in the gloom;
the ledges of rock
in this new world are
unsubstantial.
The sole inhabitants, it seems,
are birds—
until these two,
his arm about her waist.

XXXIII
Stream that a month ago
flowed between banks of snow
and whose grey ripples showed
a sky as grey—
now the stream is seen
clear and as green
as are the willows on its banks,
for it is May,
this stream was turbid, grey,
that now is clear and green—
for it is May!
Your hair be dyed and curled the more,
your dress be gayer than before—
your beauty had its praise,
your anxious eyes now ask it;
but your face will soon be crumpled
like a ball of paper tossed
in the trash-basket,
in the trash-basket.

XXXIV
Holding the stem of the 
beauty she had 
as if it were still 
a rose.