Trembling and silvered, linden, birch...
  The moon sheds its leaves on the water...

Like long hair combed by the night wind,
The scent of the summer nights perfumes the dark lake;
The great perfumed lake glistens like a mirror.

My oar falls and raises itself,
My boat glides in the dream.

My boat glides in the sky,
On the intangible lake...

 ... 

In rhythm, with my eyes closed,
Row away, oh my heart, your indolence
With long strokes, slow and dreamy.

Over there, the moon listens, leaning on the hill,
To the silence which is exhaled by the gliding boat...
Three big fresh-cut lilies are dying on my coat.

Toward your lips, oh voluptuous and pale night,
Is it their souls, or is it my soul which exhales?
Hair of long reeds is combed during these silver nights.

Like the moon on the waters,
Like the oar on the waves,
My soul sheds its sobs like leaves!