He truly loved the purple sun, descending from the hills,
The ways through the woods, the singing blackbird
And the joys of green.
...
The wind, which moves purple treetops,
Is God's breath that comes and goes.
The black village rises before the forest;
Three shadows are laid over the field.
...
Very bright tones in the thin winds,
They sing the distant mourning of this day,
That makes us dream after never-felt showers
Completely filled with unimaginable smells.
...
Oh, the great city's madness when at nightfall
The crippled trees gape by the blackened wall,
The spirit of evil peers from a silver mask;
...
Night threatens at the bed of our kisses.
Somewhere a whisper: who absolves your guilt?
Still trembling from the sweetness of nefarious lust
We pray: forgive us, Mary, in your mercy.
...
In the evening, when the bells ring peace,
I follow the wonderful flights of birds,
That in long rows, like devout processions of pilgrims,
Disappear into the clear autumn vastness.
...
In the dark many bird voices call,
The trees and the springs murmur noisily,
In the clouds a rose-colored glow sounds
Like early love's distress. The night blues away -
...
Wanderer in the blackened wind. Dry reeds whisper
in the stillness of the moor. A column of savage birds
ensues in the dawning sky.
Over murky waters they cross.
...
The sun shines alone in the afternoon,
And quietly the tone of the honey-bees wavers off.
In the garden the sisters' voices whisper -
There the boy listens in the wooden shed,
...
The last, pale light went from the day,
The early passions have rustled down,
The holy wine of my joys spilled
Now my heart weeps in the night and listens
...