The soul of a flute sighs

The soul of a flute sighs

From deep within the melodious park;

Limpid the shadow where one breathes

Your quiet poem.

Night of languor, night of lies,

That places, with a rippling motion

Into your dreamlike hair

The moon, jewel of the East.

Sylva, Sylvie and Sylvanire,

Beauties of fickle blue glances,

The star is mirrored in the fountains.

Walk along the silver paths,

Go quickly, time is so short,

Gather in the garden of promises

The hearts that die of the dream

Of dying amid your hair.