Rolf Armstrong/1932 
you were not always alone with me often looked
long festivities in the canals dried
flow under the bridge chased by time,
between vine leaves, the meadows and the dreamy light of evening descended
the seabed and the thread of the river.
And sometimes he was not sure we who was absent:
often saw the tournament clearest
Winding through the streets in winter only, between
lodges, among flowers and frost fumidi
push the walls
trophies in the light of Hell. Women
otherwise-and no more similar to life-
warm in subtle passions
veiled by a mist of tears
ideals in the wind, the fire on the decks last
of stars appear from portals,
behind the windows of a cross.
you were not always alone with me often looked long festivities in the canals dried
flow under the bridge chased by time,
between vine leaves, the meadows and the dreamy light of evening descended
the seabed and the thread of the river.
And sometimes he was not sure we who was absent:
often saw the tournament clearest
Winding through the streets in winter only, between
lodges, among flowers and frost fumidi
push the walls
trophies in the light of Hell. Women
otherwise-and no more similar to life-
warm in subtle passions
veiled by a mist of tears
ideals in the wind, the fire on the decks last
of stars appear from portals,
behind the windows of a cross.
(A toast)
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