The balad of the lilies that die at dawn
Is sad and behind them,when they-re gone,
The unkown purpleing scent
Remains the pray the flowers scent....
Torn by God from heaven's hearth,
They 're brought on the tormented earth,
Beside the proud fir-trees on the height,
To weave for ever threads of light.
In the moonlighted nights
When the saints sink in prayer lights,
And when the silence is serene in the holy place,
Love falls deeply in the grace.
Translated by my sister.
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