.MTM5OA.MTIwOTA2

Intrastic come if fuoco

Even though, like the cuckoo left upon a snowy grave to mourn the dead and not to see the moon, I hear the wind which blusters all around me, on this hollow hour as then, to me returning in the light of spring which drowns the winter, and in an instant throws the windows wide

Like fire into a frozen grotto you came in bringing back the sun into my little room which signs for death had shrunk and darkened