Daydream

The zephyr with sweet breath

Half-opens the rose of the woods

And on the mountains and in the plain,

He makes everything fertile at the same time.

The lily and the red verbena

Escape bloomed by his fingers.

Everything becomes inebriated by his full cup

And each one quivers at his voice.

But it is a frail plant

That draws back and flees trembling.

The kiss that will wound it

And yet I know plaintive souls

Who are like sensitive plants,

And whom happiness causes to die.