While the burning sun burnt on the glass of sky
A soothing wind blew from the icecaps of snow.
The warm north breeze with chill drops of ice,
Drenched its emerald leaves hanging on moonlit row.
Amid those gold-dusted azures of the cathedral sky,
On which the amber bars of dying sunset lie.
As crimson darkness fell over the shoulders of my place,
The stars lit on the sky like jewels on the queens pinafore.
I did what Oscar Wilde did for France, to my place.
A soothing wind blew from the icecaps of snow.
The warm north breeze with chill drops of ice,
Drenched its emerald leaves hanging on moonlit row.
Amid those gold-dusted azures of the cathedral sky,
On which the amber bars of dying sunset lie.
As crimson darkness fell over the shoulders of my place,
The stars lit on the sky like jewels on the queens pinafore.
I did what Oscar Wilde did for France, to my place.
