The May evening

Fanned by the scents of May, beneath the light shade of the blossoming tree,

we see the evening clouds dying away

and await the rising of the full moon

and Philomel's song in the valley bush.

Mild was the twilight; we jested familiarly

with mimicking jollity, but soon we fell silent.

Deep in lovely thought sat the maiden,

and we whispered, should we go? but we did not leave.