Quivering woods, starry sky,
my beloved has gone away
taking with him my desolate heart!

Winds, may your plaintive noises,
charming nightingales, may your songs
go to tell him I’m dying!

From the first evening he came here
my soul was at his mercy.
I no longer cared about pride.

My eyes kept telling him my thoughts.
He took me in his nervous arms
and kissed my head close to my hair.

That caused me a great trembling;
and then, I no longer know how,
he became my lover.

 ... 

I kept saying: “You will love me
for as long as you are able!”
I would sleep well only in his arms.

But he, feeling his heart grown cold,
departed some mornings ago,
without me, for a distant land.

Since I have my lover no longer
I will die in the pond, among
the flowers, under the sleeping water.

 ... 

Pausing on the edge, I will speak
his name to the wind, while dreaming
that I often awaited him there.

And as if in a golden shroud,
with my hair undone, I will let myself go
wherever the wind takes me.

The happy times I have known will shed
their gentle light on my forehead;
and the green reeds will entwine me.

And my breast will believe,
as it trembles caressed and entwined,
that the absent one is embracing me.

 ...