The dream-life of an imaginary afternoon, in an imaginary garden. 
Silent statues gaze at nobody, nobody returns their gaze.
We commune with twittering birds, a consort of insects buzz and click a glittering gavotte in the quiet garden,
Senses beguiled by the aroma of late summer roses and freshly cut grass,
Old fountains spill liquid and light into glittering pools,
Just the quiet hiss of the breeze in the leaves disturbs the imaginary silence.
Here, in England, in this dream of late summer,
I watch the afternoon sun dance in your hair, 
Each strand iridescent, an effulgent glow;
Das gold so tief im abendrot!
Illusion, delusion, bending the sunlight,
Shadows and clouds bruising the sky;
When we are gone the garden will wait
Until another dream awakens it again.
The dream-life serene,
Undisturbed we sleep,
While Time waits in the waking hours,
Dreams have no clocks,