I.
He was a gentleman with utmost civility.
He arrives in town and gains autumnal popularity.
Some are grieved and some are releived at his arrival.
Who accompanies him at departure is final.

II.
He carried the crows for birds in fashion.
White chrysanthemums growing in his tapestry.
Carriers of grace are the carriers of his carriage, the black horses pass each hemlock tree with loud silence of a mouse when they come to the town.

III.
I haven't eminence neither grace.
Yet he spared a glance at me.
In a hearty conversation we got engaged; one of the horsemen and I.

IV.
I told him what mattered.
It wasn't the red of the chrysanthemum he offered instead of the white.
Light of the dawn was where they grew.
Light which the critters called "the way of the mighty landscape. " seemed the like the newest of names of the dark of night to me.
To speak with certude, the "light" seemed to shine for only a few.

V.
Our walks took us to the gardens...