it"s evening. All flowering plants, As the smoke of the censers, spreading the aroma; sound sound flying through the air; Sad waltz and languorous whirling!
As the smoke censers, flowing aroma; And moaning violin, like a soul in torment; Sad waltz and languorous whirling! And the heavens, as the altars, burning.
And groans twilight, like a soul in torment vanities of those who drink deadly poison; And the...