The evening blooms,
Temora glows
in the blaze of the dipping sun.
As it sinks
it kisses the sea,
which shivers with reverence and bliss.

A gray aroma
floats through the air,
veiling Daura's golden meadows.
It rustles about
the gloomy sea,
and twilight reigns with anticipation.

O dear land!
O sacred seaside!
O meadow, obscured by every other meadow;
meadow in whose lap
the flowers sprout
that outsparkles all other flowers!

Is not the snow
often linked with the lily,
as this fair flower is with the glow of roses?
The meadow awards it a wreath
full of fragrance and splendour -
the prize for being flawless.

Its amber fragrance
wafts through the air,
spicing the air both near and far
and if the light of
this song does not die,
its name will reach someday to the stars.

O dear land!
O majestic shore!
Be proud of your flower of flowers!
The sacred sea
and the islands
ringing it, pay homage to its splendour.

Night veils the shore,
Temora disappears,
and the late red glow of dusk fades.
The sea rumbles
and, glowing red,
the full moon rolls out of the dark waters.