Evensong

The gentle south wind sighs through black branches

and tenderly kisses the singers' sleeping down

The silvery trees sway to and fro,

and make their shadows sway with them, -

A quiet sultriness rises from the fields,

A cool quietude descends on downy feathers,

The silvery sun of night sprinkles down dreams,

and laughs for love in eternal laughing silence:

Mathilde, slumber! Summer's night awakens dreams,

and summer dreams are made of moonbeams.

And moonbeams are like the currents of love:

They make love descend from the heavens,

and descend in the soul, that they ennoble:

If love is to err, can one err more sweetly?