You

You are a fragrance of the flowers; you are not of the clay of mankind.
You are of a flood of light upon a wave of daybreak.
Yes, you are one alone, singular in way and in chord.
You are a color: fancy never wove one sweeter or more winning.
Your dwelling among us is an exile that fate has driven here.
And if one day you return to your bright era of old,
the earth will fall back upon sorrow, longings, and remembrance,
having won from you no more than the trace a shadow leaves.
Your dwelling among us is an exile that fate has driven here.