Under the passage of skies, by the only taste of harmony, i consider wasted time. At the end of the history, irrevocable loneliness remains inanimate under the passage of the skies.

Over there, at the bottom of the alarming night, all calls us! While here, the distance suggests the distress of the chances, with regard to a first palpitation, of tenderness, hope, and ineffable Love, slave to moods of the day. So many misery, so much vexations,so much shades resulting from so much clear colors, so much eternal "rendez-vous" under the passage of the skies.