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Updated: June 21, 2025
Wear the garland I have made; Crowned with it, put pride away; For the wreath that blooms must fade; Thou thyself must fade some day, Rhodocleia. To K. L. He heard the bell of the Badia sound hour after hour, and still sleep refused its solace. He got up and looked through the narrow window.
But side by side with the index he had a small tablet, and on this, every now and then, he added or erased a word to a short poem. The sense of it was something like this: Rhodocleia, flowers of spring I have woven in a ring; Take this wreath, my offering, Rhodocleia. Here's the lily, here the rose Her full chalice shall disclose; Here's narcissus wet with dew, Windflower and the violet blue.
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