Muted

Calm in the half-day

That the high branches make,

Let us soak well our love

In this profound silence.

Let us mingle our souls, our hearts

And our ecstatic senses

Among the vague langours

Of the pines and the bushes.

Close your eyes halfway,

Cross your arms on your breast,

And from your sleeping heart

Chase away forever all plans.

Let us abandon ourselves

To the breeze, rocking and soft,

Which comes to your feet to wrinkle

The waves of auburn lawns.

And when, solemnly, the evening

From the black oaks falls,

The voice of our despair,

The nightingale, will sing.