Über dem Berg der Mond
Wirft selbst auf den Blütendieb
Gnädig seinen Schein.
---Issa (1763 - 1827)

On a clover, if alive, erupts a vast, pure evil; a fire volcano.

'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one!
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them.
Thus kindly I scatter,
Thy leaves o'er the bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away.
When true hearts lie withered,
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
---Thomas Moore (1807 - 1834)

Komm spiel mir mir, Nya~