Starry night

Starry night, beneath your pinions, be-

neath your breeze and your perfumes,

Lyre, in sorrow, softly sighing,

I dream of a love long past.

Melancholy, so sadly tranquil, fills with gloom

my poor weary heart.

And I hear your dear soul, my darling,

Quivering in the dreamy wood.

In the shadows of the greenwood,

When, alone, I am sighing low,

You come back, O! poor soul awaken'd,

Pure and white as snow in your shroud.

[I watch here at this, your small fountain

your blue eyes like the sky;

This rose, it is my dear hope,

And these fair stars they are your eyes.]