In late spring grows the orchid good,
How luxuriant are its leaves green!
Alone it adorns empty wood
With red blooms and violet stems lean.
Slowly, slowly shortens the day;
Rippling, rippling blows autumn breeze.
By the year’s end it fades away.
What has become of it fragrance, please?
The poet compares himself to the fragrant orchid which grows in late spring in an empty wood and fades away by the year’s end.