Vernal Equinox

The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies between me and my book;

And the South Wind, washing through the room,
Makes the candles quiver.

My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter,
And I am uneasy with the thrusting of green shoots
Outside, in the night.

Why are you not here to overpower me with your tense and urgent love?