Of smiles and sighs, of laughter and of tears,
The blooms of hope and those of disillusion.
All, all these flowers grow in this wondrous park.
I drink some water from the Muse’s palm,
The water of the lake of inspiration.
And then in silence do I wend my way
Through rows of silent and mysterious flowers,
Inhaling all the odors of the flowers,
The sweet and bitter odors of the flowers.
And like the bee, I also make some honey,