The Orange Grove

I did not obey! I called you with all my particles. You came, you took root in me. The orange grove grew and took shape. Without deceit, without compulsion, our bitter oranges sway in the autumn wind. Raindrops — merry and quick — down the slide of the glossy leaves slip down, dance in the streams. I was earth, yes, but I did not obey death, I did not obey the command of loneliness. I called you with all my particles in all the world: — My love!...