because he is tired of 'soledad'

Sonnet to a Gardener: II
- Trinidad Tarrosa-Subido

Cool is the night. There is a tender breeze
Stirring the vine-leaves curtailing my room.
Is it the amorous secrets of the trees?
Is it my name, it murmurs through the gloom?
The altar-fires gleam fitful in the dusk.
But stars allure me with their lustrous glow;
Fragrance of lilies, rose-released musk—
Such wonders cannot last, and I must go.
Yonder, he waits... O, whisperer of my name,
Tarry a little while! I come, my love.
I come, forsaking pray’r and altar-flame
To burn for you my incense in this grove.
Night call me not a soulless infidel—
Only a pagan worshipping love too well.