In winter my mind flows to whence come the voices.
For my thirsty lips still know the source where they rise.
Frost, scattered by the wind, on the branches poises,
Bringing back all those scents that charmed the child I was.
...
As the wave sweeps the shore with its long train of foam,
It is accompanied by squawking of seabirds
And by the growling of the rocks answering them,
But beneath it in a basso continuo
...
No swelling waves, but snakes, melodious and savage.
I shall dream a long time on the shore of this ebb
Gold rings, turned dark, proclaim that you have been enslaved.
I, would I by your knots be tied, never had fled.
...
Was the unfinished word
But a mouth, but a lip,
A breath able to keep its own echo captive?
Now fires as recondite as our rites, smouldering,
...
Orchard - Say, which garlands of fruits do they disguise,
Those abysses of night that reflect our mirrors?
Look, stumbling are even the most steady walkers.
And the serpent-like bow caused the world to arise.
...
I shall know your secrets, O night heavy with stars!
But not this abandon, but not this haunting cry
On my lips - and strong is the chain with which I'm tied.
Priestess, I immolate myself at my altar.
...
No river set to shift avowals, words, sorrow...
What springtime failed to burst out, singing, in our eyes.
Why sing? If not a kiss would have swollen your sighs,
No desire broken our careless fates with its blows?
...
In my veins quivered all Hades' conspiracies
Twisting the venom of my vain expectancies,
When you, handsome bodies, paced, swinging deftly
Breasts that your arm unveiled and hid alternately,
...
You gather saps on fruit and you roam on rubbish,
Winged messenger of gods, whose shape is devilish,
Who benumb with your persistent humming my ears.
Wasp? You are more surely one of these busy bees
...
Your dream throughout the room where a honey bee hums
Progresses. And time sleeps. An apple that perfumes
Of dozing orchards in willow baskets gathers.
The carpet is designed by the unspoiled summers.
...