Pagan evening

The moon shines over the woods

Her paleness sweet and opaline...

Are you listening to all the voices

Rise from the bottom of the ravines?

Be quiet! Listen!

A flute plays a flourish from the depth of the wood...

I dream of figures on the road,

Who will come alive again.

We forget that time flies

And that dawn will come again.

The night flowers spill open with a dream,

But the sun will re-seal them.