““Remembering her, it is as if my heart were buried in the rain. Again I think it’s she, but why would she be coming now? Oh, what sad days! […] Your eyes : two sleepy cups darkened by purple berries from the forest undergrowth. What a leaf, a leaf from a white vine, fragrant and heavy, I could have brought you from the forest. Every- thing flees from this solitude enforced by rain and contemplation.””