The autumn leaves blow from my hand, agitante calescemus… and the wind cools toward autumn. Lux in diafana, Creatrix, oro. Ursula benedetta, oro By the hours of passion, per dilettevole ore, guide your successor, Ysolt, Ydone, have compassion, Picarda, compassion By the wing’d head, by the caduceus, compassion; By the horns of Isis-Luna, compassion. The black panther lies under his rose-tree. J’ai eu pitie des autres. Pas assez! Pas assez! For me nothing. But that the child walk in peace in her basilica The light there almost solid.