While alone in the silent light of a wavering moon 
I wander along the shore complaining of cruel fate
And accuse heaven of having callously separated us here on earth.
Oh! Tell me if you think of me and if you are still true.
About your fate I question the flying flecks of foam,
The winds that sigh amid the wrack on the shore
And the stars that, shining, look on you from above.
To the distant stars I speak of you, oh yes, of you.
Oh tell me; to whom you speak of me in this way.
Sometimes I seem to hear your voice in the cry 
Of the kingfisher building a nest for his mate.
I prick up my ears and.. Alas! 
Realize I deceived myself.
Oh tell me: does a sigh of mine still reach your heart?
Often in the white clouds that appear on the horizon 
It seems that as an angel you fly towards me, 
And hold out your arms never to leave me again.
Ah, tell me, ah, say if there is anything 
that conjures up an image of me for you!