The fountain

Your pretty eyes are tired, poor darling!

Keeping them closed, stay a long time still

in that nonchalant pose

in which pleasure came upon you.

Out in the courtyard the chattering fountain

never silent night or day

is gently prolonging the ecstasy

into which love has plunged me this evening.

The water-sheaf which waves

to and fro its thousand flowers,

and through which the moon

shines its pallid rays,

falls like a shower

of large teardrops.

Even so your soul, set ablaze

by the burning flash of pleasure,

leaps up, rapid and bold,

towards the vast enchanted skies.

And then it spills, dying,

in a wave of sad languor

down an invisible slope

into the depths of my heart.

Oh beloved, whom night makes so beautiful,

as I lean over your breasts, I find it sweet

to listen to the eternal lament

that sobs in the fountain-basins!

Oh moon, sounds of water, blessed night,

oh trees trembling all around,

your pure melancholy

is the mirror of my love.