A clear spring sparkles in the silent forest,
hidden from the heat of the day;
reeds are bending there, and all around
hyacinths and violets bloom.

Neither the goats grazing on bitter laburnum
on the nearby hillsides,
nor the shepherds playing songs on divine flutes,
have disturbed the clear-flowing spring.

The dark oaks, loved by faithful bees,
pour down peace onto this beautiful spot,
and the ringdoves nestling in the thick foliage
have tucked their heads under their wings.

The great indolent stags, in the mossy thickets,
sniff the lingering late dew;
under the shining canopy of motionless leaves
the lazy Wood-sprites sleep.

And Naïs, the pale nymph inside the sacred spring,
softly closes her beautiful eyes;
she dreams, fast asleep; a harmonious laugh
floats on her crimson mouth.

No eyes gleaming with amorous desire
have seen under these limpid veils
the snowy-bodied Naiad with the long flowing hair
sleeping on the silvery sand.

And no man has gazed on her adolescent cheeks,
her ivory neck, the brightness
of her young breasts, her delicately shaped shoulders,
her white arms, or her innocent lips.

But the lecherous Faun, on a nearby tree,
half-parts the thick foliage
and sees, enlaced in a moist caress,
that supple body shining under the water.

Immediately he laughs in his inhuman joy;
a laugh that disturbs the cool glade;
and the maiden wakes, turns pale at the noise,
and disappears like a vain shadow.

Be like that Naiad, in that remote forest,
asleep under the limpid water,
flee always from impure eyes and the hands of the profane,
oh Beauty, light of the soul!