IVY has covered all the wall. How many hours, how many tears, since once we loved? How many days? No roses now; ivy has torn the vine. Where is thy soul?.. Climbing o'er the swallows nests, the ivy has stifled all the manor. O wind! The roses of old time have filled the well.--Is it there that thou hast hidden, my dead wife? None answers. Who should answer?.. Were it not better listen to the wind singing in the grasses: "My sweet love"? Level with the roof the ancient sun, the crimson sun, is through the middle cut so sadly. Shall I call the gardener? The gardener? It would be better call to Death to mow the grass. So many memories and so much love, and the sun level with the earth.