With mysterious scents

With mysterious scents

the forest already greets me from the slope.

Above me, high in the air

Floats the first note of the lark.

Entranced by the sweet sound

I wander on through the field of grain,

Which, still half drunk in slumber,

Gently lean toward the light.

What a longing! what dreaming!

Ah, you yearn, in this twilight,

With these flowers, with these trees...

My old heart, you yearn once more to bloom.