Oh vanishing springtimes, enchanting memory,
The clearing [on] their brows lends a perfumed veil;
On [a] rope of silk they cradle their exhilaration,
[Their] feet bending the flowers, [their] bodies half swooning.
Both are twenty years old, the lover and the mistress;
God [created] them both [to be] beautiful on a morning of May;
He, drowning in blond hair his passionate caress;
She, hanging her soul on the neck of [her] beloved!
And the stream flows, and the butterfly passes [by],
And the sound of kisses which spans the space
Plays with the reeds on the wing[s] of vows…
But what matter the wind, the rushes, the fleeting water,
Where [is] time without return which no one makes captive?
They lived their life in one of these moments!