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Description
My youth was but a violent storm
Through which, at times, a dazzling sun would shine
The thunder and the rain have took their deadly toll
My garden but a waste land with no light

Now I have reached the Autumn of my mind
And spade and rake must toil land to save,
That fragments of my flooded fields be sought
From where the water sluices out the graves.

Who knows if the new flowers my dreams prefigure,
In this washed soil should find, as by a sluit,
The mystic nourishment to give them vigour?

Time swallows up our life, O ruthless rigour!
And the dark foe that nibbles our heart's root,
Grows on our blood the stronger and the bigger

this poem was writen by Bodlier. Before you another poet, but some how extremly Baudlerian is his image

Description
My youth was but a violent storm
Through which, at times, a dazzling sun would shine
The thunder and the rain have took their deadly toll
My garden but a waste land with no light

Now I have reached the Autumn of my mind
And spade and rake must toil land to save,
That fragments of my flooded fields be sought
From where the water sluices out the graves.

Who knows if the new flowers my dreams prefigure,
In this washed soil should find, as by a sluit,
The mystic nourishment to give them vigour?

Time swallows up our life, O ruthless rigour!
And the dark foe that nibbles our heart's root,
Grows on our blood the stronger and the bigger

this poem was writen by Bodlier. Before you another poet, but some how extremly Baudlerian is his image