All at once, as if in play,
Mademoiselle, she who moots
a wish to hear how it sounds today
the wood of my several flutes
It seems to me that this foray
tried out here in a country place
was better when I put them away
to look more closely at your face
Yet this vain whistling I suppress
in so far as I can create
given my fingers pure distress
lacking the means to imitate
Your very natural and clear
childlike laughter that charms the ear
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice, but not one of his best poems.