In the ancient book of the forestI will make a poem for you,The scent of May, of April,When you play and step among the peach trees.
I will take the breezes, the beauties,That the flowers in the field possess,When the sun clothes them in lightAnd showers them with dew!
With them I will make your portrait,Lips, eyes, eyelashes and brow,Then I will stand in the cornerGazing at it with desire...
May the breeze leaf through the pages,Sometimes with harp and with violin,To “steal” the portrait that appears,To scatter it through the seasons!
May it linger among the leaves,May they bathe in the waterfall,Whoever sees it will melt away,Longing for the light-washed portrait!
Then through the branches and leaves,Through the centuries, through the ages,May the moon tremble in a feverWhen your beauty passes by!
My verses through the nights,The moon in the forest and meadow,May the breeze turn them into a sonnet,To be sung through the seasons!
And so I place the songIn the forest’s ancient - book,For the beauty dazes me,With its sweet voice and timbre.
When we are both goneFaded away entirely in a meadow,We will have our love among the people,Like our soul, entirely immortal!
The forest orchestra through the ages,Sometimes in bloom and in rain,Will sing of your beauty,In thousands of songs and melodies...
And we will sleep for a whole lifetime,But our song will wander,In the lyrical leaves of the forest,And will never be forgotten or fade...
Through the centuries, love will remain...
