The freshly blossomed orange forms an arch
To the entrance, the star-petalled jasmine
Fills the night, both flowers as white as starch,
As alluring, as enticing as sin.
Now is the season for lilacs to spring
And pave the way for budding lavender
And the colouring of everything
That makes idleness seem rich and tender.
I want none of it to fill my quiet
With noise, with helpless fleeting transience;
Let no pretty thing in me beget
That which weakens the aspirant’s defense.
Flowers should remind of death. The lilac
Reminds me of the beauty that I lack.