Through the cloud of scented leaves,
Burnt and breathed and beautiful,
I see a flame.
Stark red hair, an apparition of Shallot.
We are divided by a pastel piano
Colored yellow, pink, and green.
Just beyond the trees of the piazza,
Marietta plays gently a somber song.
She is naught but a vision
And I see no gaze emanating from her eyes.
Who is she, this Marietta I know so well?
Who I know so little?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem