Diamánti

Adorned with cryptic stones and sliding shines, An immaculate personage in nothingness, With the whole spirit sparkling in its cloth,

Generations of the imagination piled In the manner of its stitchings, of its thread, In the weaving round the wonder of its need,

And the first flowers upon it, an alphabet By which to spell out holy doom and end, A bee for the remembering of happiness.